


Push You Out (Pull You Back In)

by Readmynovels



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Age Difference, Alcohol, All the time, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Come Eating, Daddy Kink, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Flash is a little shit, Good Peter, Hair Pulling Kink, Innocent Peter, Jealous Tony Stark, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter has the hair pulling kink, Peter is kind of, Peter is so horny, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Rimming, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Starker, Statutory Rape, Submissive Peter, Subspace, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Underage Drinking, and he analyzes things too much, and he tries to help him, and tony sees that, but not that slow, but they do kinky stuff too dont worry, he doesnt have enough fun, how do i describe this, its just kind of their dynamic, obviously, peters a little uptight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readmynovels/pseuds/Readmynovels
Summary: So basically, Peter's kind of fucked. And not in the way that he wants to be-preferably by his mother's hot new boyfriend who has beautiful brown eyes and a disposition that's more than put-together. It wouldn't be so hard to ignore the crush, really it wouldn't, but Mr. Stark has practically moved in, so Peter couldn't avoid him if he wanted to, and unlike his mom's past boyfriends, this one actually likes to spend time with Peter. So yeah, Peter's kind of fucked.Based off a tumblr post I will link in the notes.





	1. Peter Meets Tony Stark on a Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is the first work I've ever published on ao3 so this is exciting for me. Enjoy, and please let me know what you liked (or didn't like) in the comments.

[Chinese Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658993/chapters/39061685)

 

 

Peter Parker tried not to hate Mondays.

He always thought it was a little harsh to hate a whole day out of the week. Don’t get him wrong, Peter understood the universal distaste for Mondays. After spending two days sleeping in and not having to go to work or school, and then being forced to wake up early and expected to function, well sure, that could be unsettling. But Peter couldn’t get over the numbers. Mondays made up one seventh of his life. If he lived to be 84, he would have spent 12 years of just Mondays, and he couldn’t go about hating them just because they were inconvenient. Because if it wasn’t Monday getting hate, it would have been Tuesday or Wednesday or maybe even Thursday. Monday was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And sure, maybe it was a little silly to feel such sympathy for a certain day of the week. Hell, to even put much thought at all into the notion was overdoing it, and personifying Monday definitely wasn’t helping his exhausted mental state. Peter was aware of all of this…and yet, all he could do was shake his head and frown when he read tweets carefully articulated by his peers, ones like “ _Fml monday sucksss_ ”, or even worse, “ _realizing tomorrow is Monday_ ” with a GIF of Dwight from _The Office_ screaming.

So, Peter tried not to hate Mondays. And, to be honest, he did alright for the most part. He went about making the most of them.  He liked that he could get organized and write everything out for the upcoming week that he had to do and color-code his calendar accordingly. But this particular Monday…Peter didn’t stand a chance. He had two tests, one in math, the other in English, and a quiz in chemistry, which he did not prepare enough for. His regular Study Hall teacher was MIA, and the sub, Mrs. Meyer, actually made him do work, and definitely didn’t let Peter take a nap with his head against his desk. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he had gotten more sleep the night before. He was thinking about that when the final bell rang, making a mental note to research insomnia more deeply, but mostly, looking forward to going home and nuzzling under his covers, where he would finally be able to close his eyes and shut down for a little while. He was so sick of the school’s fluorescent lights; Peter couldn’t wait to be in the darkness of his room.

“Peter?” A hand grazed his shoulder, causing Peter to turn around.

“Oh, hey.” Despite his exhaustive state, he didn’t have to fake a smile for his best friend. Ned gestured to the side and they scooted by the lockers to avoid blocking traffic from antsy students shuffling to escape the building.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Ned asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, I was…oh, no.” He groaned. Decathlon practice. Peter got the email for the reschedule during first period, but he was too tired to remember the date change. “I completely forgot.”

“I covered for you last time! Peter, you cannot bail again.”

He tried to think up some excuse that could get him out of going, _anything_ he could tell Ned that would allow him to sleep as soon as possible without having his best friend mad at him. And then he sighed in defeat and followed Ned to the gym. As much as he wanted to, he really couldn’t skip a second practice in a row. Peter loved Decathlon. He liked knowing random facts he could mull over or bring into conversations. He enjoyed pushing himself, but there was a point when it became more self-destructive than anything. As Peter trudged home an hour and a half later, he feared he was nearing that line.

 *****************************************************************************

            When Peter finally made it to his apartment (which took him about six years to get there), he whipped out his key and unlocked the door. He had mentally planned to get a glass of water and head straight for his bed, but as he turned for the kitchen, he noticed something that made him freeze.

There, draped on his couch, was a man.

“Oh.” Peter said without meaning to. His first instinct was to wonder if this man was a robber, but a quick glance at his expensive-looking suit answered his question for him. Tan skin, dark chocolate eyes, and brown, slightly rough-edged styled hair were his first impressions of the man.

“Peter?” The man made a casual hand gesture towards him. “Of course, you must be Peter.”

            There were some people, Peter believed, who had the ability to make him uncomfortable through eye contact. No, that wasn’t right. There were some people who could see into other people. One look and damn, they knew everything you were thinking or feeling. He had only stumbled upon it a few times and he didn’t come close to understanding it, but he was certain this man possessed the ability.   

 “Uh, yeah.” Peter fumbled awkwardly, beginning to raise his hand to offer it out to shake before quickly deciding against it and folding his arms over his chest instead. _Smooth, Parker._ “I’m Peter.” Fuck, the man already said that. Peter watched as he chuckled before standing up and sauntered towards him.

“I’m Tony.” He outstretched his hand with a knowing smile, like he was amused by Peter’s clumsiness. Peter shook his hand politely. Tony’s grip was warm and firm.  

“So, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing in your home.”

Nope, Peter was not actually wondering that. He should have been, but he was too busy hoping his hand wasn’t sweaty or cold during their handshake to be concerned if the man he was fraternizing with was a murderer. But he couldn’t just _say_ that, so Peter nodded along.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to meet you like this, without your mom. She thought she could take a fast shower and be ready before you got home. Said something about going to a sandwich shop with your friend after your debate club or something.” Tony offered a sympathetic smile. “Guess you beat her.”

“I guess I did.” Peter felt his awkwardness start to fade away the more Tony talked. “So…you two are dating?”

He thought he recalled Mary mentioning meeting someone new recently, but he didn’t picture anyone like Tony.  

“I promise, Mr. Parker, my intentions are of utmost purity.” Tony raised his hands up in defense. “I’ll have her home by ten and not a minute later. I’m sure you’ll be waiting here with a shotgun in your lap.”

Peter giggled at that. Tony’s smile widened.

“So, how was debate?” Tony asked, not missing a beat. “Do you guys talk about global warming, Trump, or the first amendment?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not in debate club.” Peter explained. “It’s called Decathlon and it’s basically trivia.”

He was going to continue because surprisingly, Tony actually looked interested, but a clattering sound drew his attention.

“Oh, honey!” Peter’s mom emerged from her room wearing jeans and a black top. She ruffled a towel against her wet hair. “I see you’ve met Mr. Stark.”  

******************************************************************************

 “My mom has a new boyfriend.” Peter whispered into the phone before closing his bedroom door. The past hour Peter spent with his mom, eating leftover pasta and helping her with the dishes. Tony left way earlier before that, soon after she emerged from the shower. He promised he’d see her soon and told Peter it was nice to meet him.  

“What?” This got Ned’s attention. “No, what happened to Derek?” Ned sighed. “I really liked Derek.”

Derek really liked Derek, too.  Peter’s mom found Derek at an art gallery, that he co-owned with his friend. He was in his late fifties, wore glasses, was cursed with a receding hairline, and talked too much about wine. He and Peter’s mom dated for six months.

Sure, Derek had his redeeming qualities. He had a sweet French bulldog named Lewis that he often brought over. Peter would let sleep with him in his bed and feed him scraps under the table. Derek also stocked the pantry with sophisticated snacks like artisan crackers and quinoa. Peter never took the time to actually cook the quinoa, but he would sometimes opt out his typical go-to bag of Doritos and reach for the cheesy sourdough squared imported from Belgium. Despite the welcomed presence of a dog and the expansion of his taste palette, Peter wasn’t a fan of Derek. He always seemed uncomfortable when Peter was around for more than five minutes.

He wasn’t _mean_ to him or anything like that, so Peter had no real reason to hate him, but he could have been subtler when he pushed a leash into Peter’s hands and asked him to take Lewis on a long walk. Let’s just say Peter wasn’t devastated when his mom broke up with him a few weeks ago.

“You only liked Derek because he told you that you looked like some famous artist.”

Peter did not miss Derek, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Lewis and waking up in the mornings to his cute snores.

 “You make a good argument.” Peter could hear Ned’s smile in his voice, and just behind that, a familiar creaking sound Peter knew that meant Ned was spinning in his desk chair. “So, what’s this new guy like?”  

“He seems nice.” Peter said after too long of a pause.

“That’s all you’re going to tell me? Come on, Peter. What’s his job? What does he look like?”

 “Something business-y, I think.” That suit was impressive, but it wasn’t just for show. “I don’t know specifics, maybe banking or insurance? I can ask my mom later. He has brown hair and brown eyes-I don’t know. I’m terrible at physical descriptions.” Peter unconsciously turned his right hand over in his lap and with his left hand, ran his fingers over his palm where Tony had shaken his hand. Peter took a breath before speaking, “He seems really sure of himself. Like he knows what he’s doing. He’s confident and charismatic. You can just kind of tell that he’s smart just by talking to him. It sounds weird, but the way he looks at you, it’s like he can see through you. Do you know what I mean?”

“What, like he doesn’t see you?”

_The opposite, actually._

“Yeah, something like that.” Peter mumbled back. “Hey, Ned, can we talk tomorrow? If I don’t get some rest tonight, I might actually start hallucinating.”

Ned agreed and they ended their phone call.

 

Peter turned on his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on letting go of the loudness in his head. Then he thought about Tony Stark.

 

And suddenly, Peter wasn’t so tired anymore. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_[(tumblr post that inspired this fic)](https://im-a-goner--foryou.tumblr.com/post/174403380188/httpsim-a-goner-foryoutumblrcompost174170881383) _

 

 

 


	2. Mr. Stark Comes Over for Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Stark comes over for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you guys so much for your kind comments on the last chapter. I really appreciate everyone who took the time to write something. I read every one and could not stop smiling. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. This story is so fun to write.

Peter had just finished entering his locker combination when Ned tapped him on the shoulder.

“You sure you can’t come tonight?”

Last weekend, Peter and Ned discovered a movie theater that only played old movies. They checked their site’s calendar and found that the original _Star Wars_ trilogy was going to be shown in order for the next few weekends. To say that Peter nearly creamed his pants was not only a little embarrassing, but it was also an understatement. He couldn’t, however, go tonight.

“I’m positive.” Peter insisted as he rifled through his textbooks, deciding which to bring home for the weekend. _Math? Yes. Chemistry? Definitely. Spanish? Yes…_ “There’s no way my mom will let me. This dinner is important to her. She really wants me to get to know him.”

“What’s his name again? Marco?”

“Tony.” Peter shoved an English textbook in his backpack.

He mentally double-checked to make sure he had everything he wanted to work on over the weekend before he closed his locker and turned to face Ned.

“Can we please go tomorrow? We went our whole lives without knowing about this place. What’s one more day?”

“I don’t know, Peter.” Ned gave him a pointed look and wiggled his eyebrows. “What _is_ one more day?”

“86,400 seconds.” Peter didn’t bother trying to hide his grin. Yesterday in Decathlon, Mr. Harrington had him compete against Flash. The final question was how many seconds were there in a day, and Flash nearly pulled his hair out when Peter answered it before him. He wouldn’t admit it to just anyone, but Peter enjoyed beating him a great deal more than a teammate should. “He’s such a douchebag.” Ned laughed.  “Fine, I’ll wait all of those-how many seconds was it?”

“86,400 seco-”

“Right, yeah, I’ll wait 86,400 seconds for us to watch--no, to _experience_ \--the greatest movies of all time.”

“Good.” Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, dude.”

“But I swear to _God_ ,” Ned added emphatically, “if I have to go see Empire without you, I will cry.”

“I believe you.” Peter nudged him with his shoulder playfully. “Don’t worry. I promise I’m not going to miss Han getting frozen in Carbonite.”

“Of course that’s your favorite part.” Ned rolled his eyes.

“It’s a brilliant scene.” Peter defended. “When Chewbacca tries to take down all those guys to get to Han and Boba tries to shoot him but Vader smacks his gun down? Amazing.”

“Sure, Peter, we’ll pretend like that’s why you love that scene.”  

Okay, yeah, fine, it might also have to do with Leia confessing her love and Han responding with the iconic “I know” line that reflected his character perfectly. If Peter got a little teary-eyed when it came to that, well, no one had to know. “You’re hilarious.” He zipped up his backpack before slinging the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Just text me movie times.”

“Have fun at dinner.” Ned waved.

***************************************************************************

“Peter, will you get the door, please?” Mary called from the kitchen. Peter looked down at his book, finishing the last sentence he was on before he clicked the lamp off.  

“Sure, mom!” Fuck.

 Peter glanced at himself in the mirror on the way to the front door. He fixed his hair a bit before opening the door.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter greeted.  

“Peter.” Tony seemed genuinely happy to see him. “How you been, kid?”

“Good.” He didn’t know what else to say for a moment. “Uh, come on in.”

“Tony, hello!”  Mary emerged from the kitchen and enveloped Tony in a hug.

“Thank you for having me over. How are you?” He asked.

“I’m good, I'm good, but I actually have some bad news. I hate to leave but I completely forgot to get the garlic when I was at the grocery store.”

“I don’t mind going.” Tony proposed smoothly. “Or do you want me to come with you?”

“Tony, you just got here. Please sit down, make yourself at home.” She moved her eyes to Peter. “Peter, honey, can you please get him a drink? The store is just down the street. I will be right back.”  

“Sure. Or I can go get the garlic, Mom.” Peter offered.

“No, it’s alright, honey.” Mary said, shrugging on her jacket. “I left my sunglasses in the car anyway.” Oh, right. Ever since that morning Peter’s mom found the middle compartment opened and rid of all of its loose change, she was paranoid her car was going to be broken into. "Please," she insisted, "sit down." Peter and Tony exchanged glances before sitting down, Tony on the couch, and Peter in the chair across from it. 

Mary grabbed her keys from the dish by the door. “You guys hang tight. I’ll only be a few minutes.”  

The door slammed and then it was just Tony and Peter.

Peter didn’t know the protocol for this situation. He didn’t recall ever being left alone so formally with one of his mom’s past boyfriends. Awkwardly, he turned to Tony, remembering what his mom told him before he left.

“Would you like a drink?”

“You seem sweet, but I’m sort of seeing someone.”

Peter giggled. Just like that, the ice was broken.

“So, what do you usually do when your mom isn’t here?” Tony asked and then chuckled. “Or is that something I don’t want to know?”

“I can show you,” Peter offered, standing up, “if you want.”

Tony held his gaze.

For a brief moment, he looked like he was having some kind of internal struggle with himself. Then he shook his head and stood up.

“Sure, kid, lead the way.”

Peter led Tony to his room, praying to God that it was presentable enough.  Peter clicked the desk lamp back on, drawing attention to the books sprawled out on the table.

“ _This_ is what you were doing before I came over?” Tony picked Peter’s English textbook off of his desk and flipped through it. Peter nodded shyly, sitting himself down at the edge of his bed, folding his hands in his lap.

“Peter, what’s today?”

“Friday?”

“Yeah, it’s Friday. Studying is not something that should be done on a Friday.” Tony said with a stern expression, although his tone was anything but serious. He put the book back on the desk and peered back at Peter. “Or a Saturday.” Tony added, leaning back against the desk. “If anything, it should be done Sunday night. Preferably right before you’re about to fall asleep.”

“What, like eleven?” Peter retorted, feeling an embarrassingly large smile form on his face. He liked this, talking to Tony. Peter liked the way he was teasing him, talking about nothing like it was something.

“At the earliest.” Tony smirked back and Peter had the strangest urge to take a picture of him. It was then when it hit him just how attractive Tony was. The more Peter looked at him, the more he thought so. Gorgeous brown eyes, a stellar jawline, and the facial hair just highlighted everything.

 “You’re worrying me a little bit.” Tony continued. “Studying in your free time, not procrastinating, having your room so clean, never getting in trouble…”

“How do you know I never get in trouble?”

“You seem like you do what you’re told.” _Well_. Could Peter argue with that? “Am I wrong?” Shit, was he wrong? It’s not that Peter had a problem with breaking rules necessarily; he just rarely found rules that he wanted to push the boundaries of. Peter was just that kind of person. He was pretty agreeable and he liked to please people. He definitely was more affected by his peers when a teacher scolded him. That kind of thing stuck with him all day. “Peter.” Tony pressed.

“No.”

Tony smiled. “Really, at this point, it’s just a question of where’s the effort? You couldn’t throw some clothes on the floor or forget to make your bed?”

“I love making my bed.” Peter said defensively.

“Kid, I think you might be failing at being a teenager.”

“Well, what would you rather have me do instead, Mr. Stark?”

Oh, _damn_.

Even Peter knew how sexually suggestive that comment was after he said it.

For the shortest fraction of a second, Tony glanced at his bed before darting his eyes away, back to Peter, and cleared his throat. They stared at each other for five minutes (three seconds), all of which Peter debated apologizing profusely, before Tony spoke.

“Nothing, kid. Keep studying Shakespeare on Fridays. It’s adorable.”

It was a blow, but Peter’s ears perked up at the cushion.  

“You think I’m adorable?”

Peter took his victories when he got them, no matter how small. Tony watched him for a moment, not saying anything, and then he moved closer to him.  

“You know you are.” Tony ruffled his hair. “I’ll have a glass of water.”

*************************************************************************************************************

Throughout dinner, Peter tried not to look at Tony a weird amount. He didn’t have a problem with staring-at least, he didn’t think he did, but no matter how many times his gaze fell on his plate, or his glass of water, or his mom, it always found its way back to Tony’s fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass, or the collar of his shirt where Peter could make out his collarbones, or worse-Tony’s dark eyes.  

There was something hypnotic about him, but Peter didn’t think it was the cause of one thing in particular. It was everything-but mainly how Tony moved and talked. Peter couldn’t quite understand it. The fluid gestures of his hands paired with the abundance of expression in his eyes was bewitching. Tony could read a grocery list and Peter would probably still be interested in what he was saying and how he was saying it.

“Kid?” Tony’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?” Peter’s eyes snapped up, alert. Tony smirked into his wine glass from across the table and for a second, Peter was sure he knew what he was thinking about. Peter felt his cheeks redden just from the thought of it.

“You okay, honey?” Mary asked, reaching over to touch his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Peter shook his head. “I just got distracted for a moment. What were you saying, Mr. Stark?”  

“I was talking about this new science exhibit that opened up at the museum near my place. Your mom mentioned that you were a nerd, so I thought-”

“-Tony!” Mary smacked his shoulder before turning to Peter. “I did not call you a nerd. I said you liked science.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at the older man’s boldness.  

“I thought,” Tony waved her off lightheartedly with that damn smile on his face, “you might want to check it out with me, a fellow nerd.”

“You’re a nerd?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Huge one.”

“Yeah, I’d love to go.” Peter beamed. “What kind of exhibit is it?”

“Well, a big portion of it is centered around this guy-Richard Feynman.”

“So, nanotech or quantum physics?”

“Uh, nanotech.” Tony blinked at him.

How had Peter not heard of this exhibit? “That’s so cool!”

“You know who Feynman is?”

Peter nodded. Tony looked both astonished and impressed, which did wonders for enlarging Peter’s ego. Tony opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, opting for another sip of wine instead.

“Okay, wait.” Mary said. Jesus, Peter nearly forgot she was there. Guiltily, he turned his attention towards her. “Not all of us are nerds. Who is Richard Feynman?”

“Sorry, Mom. He was an American physicist who theorized quantum physics and basically introduced nanotechnology to the world. He’s actually from Queens.” Peter looked back at Tony to find that he was already staring at him.  
*****************************************************************************************************************

            The rest of the evening went well. Tony couldn’t stay long after dinner because of something work-related he had in the morning. He thanked Mary for dinner, gave her a kiss (which was weirder than it should’ve been for Peter), and told Peter not to study too hard. After he left, Peter helped Mary wash the dishes.

“So,” she asked, handing him a plate to dry, “what do you think of him?”

“I like him.” Peter took the plate from her and rubbed a towel over it. “He seems nice.” Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at his mom. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Mary mocked cluelessness.

“Mom,” Peter groaned, trying not to smile, “what do you think of Mr. Stark?”

“I like him, too.” She said and turned off the faucet and reached for a paper towel to dry her hands. “I don’t want to speak too soon, Peter, but you will probably be seeing more of him around. How do you feel about that?”

 “That’s cool.” Peter’s voice nearly cracked trying to sound nonchalant.

“Also, sweetie, he meant what he said about taking you to that new exhibit that opened up. Do you want to go? It’s okay if you don’t want to. I know you’ve only just met him.”

“No, I want to go.” Peter hoped he didn’t sound too eager, but he was sure he did. _Easy, Parker._ “It sounds like fun.”

“Okay, that’s great. I have some wild shifts coming up the next few weeks, and I know you have Ned, but I think it would be nice for you to spend some time with Mr. Stark, too. You two seem to really get along.”

“And for the record,” she added with a playful grin, “I did not call you a nerd.”

            They talked for a half hour about school and Mary’s job before Peter retreated to his room and sat at his desk. He glanced at the open textbook in front of him and his breath hitched. The book was opened on the exact page Peter was on before Tony flipped through it. It was probably an accident. Tony opened the book before setting it back down and it just happened flip to the same page Peter had been on. It was just his English textbook; he would’ve found his way back to the right page in no time. So Peter shouldn’t have even cared…and yet.  

Tony remembered the page number.

Just the idea that he looked at the page number before he flipped through the book and that the number was circulating in the back of his head while he talking to Peter, how he made sure not to forget it…it was sweet.

It was small, probably didn’t even register in Tony’s head when he was doing it, _if_ he was doing it in the first place. Not a big deal at all, right? But _still_. After teasing Peter about studying, Tony made sure his book was how he left it, so Peter could continue with ease.

 

Peter closed the textbook (there was no way he was going to be able to study now) and leaned back in his chair.

 

Fuck.

 

_Well, what would you rather have me do instead, Mr. Stark?_

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

Peter needed to reflect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please, please, please comment if you enjoyed
> 
>  
> 
> My tumblr is richieloveseds so if you have a question or a comment you don't want to say publicly, you can shoot me an anon and I'll answer. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy your day.


	3. Peter Has a Crush on Tony Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony drops by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been way too long! I meant to update three days ago, but things have been too busy. I'm in Alabama visiting my grandmother for her 90th birthday and it's just been a lot of family stuff and I am drained. Five of my cousins left today, so I will have a lot more time to write. Fortunately, I've already finished half of the next chapter, so the next update will be up in the next couple of days.

Peter had come to a conclusion.

More specifically, Peter had come to a potentially disastrous and extremely inconsiderate conclusion that would inevitably cause him distress, feelings of guilt, and self-loathing.

Even more specifically, Peter had a crush on Tony Stark.

 

It became apparent at night. Peter already had enough problems sleeping, okay? He didn’t need Tony Stark on his mind when he already struggled resting six hours on a good night. Peter tried everything. He counted sheep, drank warm milk (which he did not enjoy the taste of at all), attempted to read, and even meditated with an app he downloaded on his phone. None of it helped. Every time he shut his eyes and felt the comforting pull of sleep, his mind turned back on all Peter could think about was Tony. His crush was even more obvious when after he’d finally fallen asleep, his dreams revolved around Tony Stark. For a week.

 

Then it hit him in the mornings, when Peter had to wake up and realize the dreams weren’t real, that Tony was not actually his boyfriend, which was equally as depressing as it was pathetic.

 

He just needed to breathe.

 

Decathlon was a pretty good outlet for Peter. He could forget about things for a little while. Today, they were going through mock competitions. Mr. Harrington had put them through a half hour of trivia, and they were currently noting what they needed to work on and improve.

Peter was scribbling notes down about what elements to study when Ned nudged him.

“Check out Jeffrey Dean Morgan over there.”  

“What?” Peter glanced up from his notebook. “Who’s Jeffrey Dean-oh, my god.”

Was this real life? There was no way Tony Stark was at his school-in his gym-at Peter’s Decathlon practice right now. But no, it had to be possible because Peter was sure it was him. He was wearing black pants, a white tee shirt with a bright, colorful design that looked like it was pulled directly from Andy Warhol’s head, and over it, a dark blazer. His sunglasses were resting on top of his rustled brown hair. He looked like a Greek god.

“Right? Doesn’t he look just like him?”

He was in a chair sitting so casually, his left ankle resting on top of his right kneecap. Tony Stark was the epitome of cool. Thank god, he was currently typing on his phone or he would probably have noticed Peter gawking at him. He couldn’t even be mad at himself for staring; Tony looked so fucking hot. Peter ventured closer to semi territory the more he stared at him. What the fuck? This was supposed to be a safe place where Peter didn’t have to worry about popping random boners.

“No, no, not that. That’s my mom’s boyfriend.”

“ _That’s_ Tony?” Ned asked incredulously. “Talk about an upgrade from Derek.”

“I thought you liked Derek.” Peter scoffed.

“I never liked Derek. Wait, what is he doing here?”  Ned asked. _Good question._  

 “I don’t know.” 

How long had he been here?

Peter had never been particularly annoyed by Decathlon practice taking place in the gym…until today. All Peter knew was that if Decathlon met in a classroom and Tony walked in, Peter, without a doubt, would notice him immediately. Usually, when a door opened, it was practically instinct for Peter’s head to snap up to see who had just entered the room. But in the gym, the atmosphere was different. Students were coming in and out constantly. When Mr. Huey, the art teacher, would have to leave school early (which was a lot more often than he should’ve been), art students would take their stuff and work in the gym while Decathlon practice was meeting. Some kids would come to hang out at the back tables after school and many students would cut through the gym because it was a shorter route to get to the English department. So, no, Peter did not always notice when someone hung around the gym during their meetings because it was the norm. But the idea that Tony had to sit through however long he’d been there, waiting for him, did not sit well with Peter.

 “Mr. Harrington, do you mind if I take a quick break for just a second?” 

“Yeah, Pete, that’s fine.” Mr. Harrington waved him off, already addressing Cindy for her notes.

Peter nearly sprinted off the stage to where Tony was sitting. He could do this. Although Peter hadn’t seen Tony since he fully came to terms with crushing on him, he was completely calm.

“Mr. Stark, hey.” When Tony’s eyes met his, it was all over. Whatever cool exterior Peter was foolish enough to think he could maintain began to collapse. Peter felt himself start to fumble through his words like it was his _job_ to be verbally inadequate. “What, uh, what are you doing here?” Fuck, could he be ruder? “Not that it’s not good to see you.” Peter quickly added in recovery, digging his hands in his pockets, just to take them back out a second later and clasp them behind his back. “It’s always good to see you.”  Oh, _God_. “Not that I’ve seen you that much, but every time I have, it’s been nice.” Was cringing still a thing? Because Peter was doing it both internally and externally.

“You’re good.”

“I’m what?” For a second, Peter thought Tony was accepting the apology he was about to offer for his general awkwardness.

Tony nodded to the stage. “At this Decathlon thing. You’re really good. You’ve been getting every question right.”

Peter didn’t think his smile could be any wider without causing injury to his mouth. He liked compliments as much as the next guy. From Tony, though? He was beginning to realize earning his approval was a different ball game. 

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Not too long.” Tony studied his face. “You look surprised to see me.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m supposed to pick you up to go to the museum. Your mom didn’t text you?”

“Oh, uh, she might have.” Peter patted his front pockets searchingly. “My phone is in my backpack. I usually try to keep it off when I’m at school so I don’t get distracted.”

“Of course.” Tony rolled his eyes with a smile. He looked like he wanted to say more on the matter, maybe mock Peter for being a nerd, but he held back. “Are you okay to go today? If you didn’t know about it and made other plans, we can go a different day.”

“No!” Peter insisted. “I have zero plans. I want to go today. Let me just go grab my backpack and tell my teacher I’m leaving, and I’ll be right back.”

Peter spun around, but before he could take a step, Tony grabbed his wrist. Skin to skin contact. Peter heard an angel singing in the distance. Or was that a demon? Peter clearly struggled differentiating the two.

“Slow down, kid.” Tony chuckled. “You still have twenty minutes left.”

“Yeah, but you’re here.” Peter said. “I’m not going to keep you waiting for even longer. Mr. Harrington will understand.”

“You’re not keeping me waiting. I came early to check out what your practice was like.”

Tony was still holding onto Peter’s wrist, definitely longer than necessary, verging past the line of inappropriateness, but hey, Peter wasn’t complaining. His mind was whirling over the fact that Tony came early to watch Peter practice. As Peter previously noted, Decathlon was great. Most of the time, he enjoyed himself and was interested in the topics, and hell, today was a successful practice for more reasons than the obvious. But Peter also understood that Decathlon was trivia and speeches and note-taking and stuff that wasn’t exactly exciting for most people. Tony knew all of that; he literally _chose_ to show up early and still seemed to want to stay after clearly having been there for some time, so why was Peter still reluctant? Peter never felt embarrassed about being on Decathlon. Really, it wasn’t that. What it really came down to was Peter’s fear of disappointing Tony.

“I don’t want you to get bored.” Peter admitted quietly. Tony visibly softened at that, seeming to have sensed a struck nerve.

“You couldn’t bore me if you tried, kid.” Tony reassured. Which was nice and made the tips of Peter’s ears hot, but it couldn’t be true. Peter was just this stupid teenager. Tony was worldly. Peter must have not looked convinced because after a moment, Tony turned it up a notch by slowly rubbing the pad of his thumb in circles against Peter’s wrist. “I’m serious.” He promised. 

Peter was convinced.

And semi-hard.

“You finish up.” Tony encouraged. “I’ll be right here. Go on.” Those words, along with Tony letting go of his wrist, were Peter’s cues to move. Peter blinked dumbly before turning on his heel and walking back to the stage, where he sat back down next to Ned.

“What was that about?”

“Museum.” Peter picked up his pen and stared at it, still feeling Tony’s fingers on his skin. “We’re going to the museum. He’s waiting until practice is over.”

“You alright?”

“Huh?” He felt like his head was filled with clouds. Peter turned to his best friend. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

 “You sure? Is that-Peter, are you blushing?”

Peter already thought about telling Ned. Obviously, he wanted to be able to talk to someone about his dilemma, so his best friend should have been his go-to person, right? Not exactly. Ned was just bad at keeping secrets. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him; that was harsh. Peter wasn’t worried about Ned necessarily _telling_ his secret, so much as he was worried about the not-so-subtle way Ned would act. It was so easy to picture Ned sleeping over, sitting with all of them at dinner, and consistently glancing between Peter and Tony throughout the whole meal, and-well, it made Peter nervous. And sure, Peter could admit that a part of him wanted to keep liking Tony all to himself. Maybe he’d tell Ned…but not now. Not in Decathlon, and definitely not with Tony sitting just yards away.

“Peter,” Mr. Harrington started before Peter could respond to Ned, “we’re about to begin the next round. I’m thinking you and Ned versus Cindy and Flash with astronomy being the subject. Are you fine with that?”

“Yeah.” Peter breathed a sigh of relief, flipping to a blank page in his notebook. He had no idea what he would’ve told Ned. “Ready when you are.”

            Peter tried to focus during the round, but how was he supposed to do that when he knew Tony was watching him? He kept making quick, darted glances to where he was sitting and ended up making eye contact with him _every_ time, which then caused Peter to stutter through his answer or forget it entirely. _God_ , he was such a wreck. It was probably worse in his head because at least Flash wasn’t laughing, but Peter definitely felt Ned’s eyes on him.

            When practice finally ended, Peter was quick to approach Tony, as was Ned to follow Peter. Ned wasn’t dumb. He must have assumed whatever was up with his best friend was directly correlated with whatever the interaction he had with Tony was. Peter just hoped he wouldn’t talk about it with Tony present.

 “Mr. Stark,” Peter said, “this is my best friend, Ned.” It was better to have ripped the Band-Aid off, Peter decided. This introduction was inevitable and if Ned noticed the edge Peter’s voice, well, fuck it.

“Nice to meet you, Ned.” Tony stood up and shook his hand. “Do you condone Peter not using his phone during the school day?”

So, that was still stuck in his head. Peter was surprised.

“It’s incredibly weird and he’s the only student in this entire school who does it.”

“That’s what I figured.” Tony smiled coolly. He placed a hand on Peter’s back. “Got everything you need, kid?”

“Yeah. I’m all set.” Peter replied, readjusting his backpack strap. “Ned, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure thing, Peter.” Ned waved, a peculiar glint in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.” Ned gave Peter one last look before he strolled away from them and out the door.

“And then there were two.” Tony remarked. “He seems nice.”

“You think so?” Peter was way too happy about Tony liking Ned and preened when Tony gave an assuring hum.

“You excited, kid?” Tony asked, and took off walking in the direction of the exit. Peter rushed to walk next to him.  

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Good.” Tony took his keys out of his pocket as they approached the parking lot. “I’m glad you’re coming. We’re going to have fun.”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you like? Please let me know in the comments :) The next chapter, by the way, will be the longest chapter so far, so heads up.


	4. Tony Introduces Peter to the Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony takes Peter to the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this is out two days later than expected (I researched nanotech for half an hour and watched a ted talk about it), but don't worry, I made it extra long. :)
> 
> Luckily for you guys, my flight has been delayed for four hours, so I've been writing a few chapters in the future. I wrote their first sexual experience together and oh my god, I cannot wait to share it with you guys. 
> 
> All of your comments have been so great. I want to let you guys know I really appreciate every single one and I can’t wait to respond to them when I get off this plane (about to take off and replying isn’t working on mobile for some reason)
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

People say that dogs resemble their owners. The same worked for cars, Peter decided as he slid into the leather seats of Tony’s black A7 Audi.  It was just so Tony Stark, from the shiny exterior to the classic and luxurious mahogany dashboard.

“Peter, seatbelt.” Tony quipped.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Peter quickly pulled the band around, buckling up. He glanced at Tony and resisted rolled his eyes when he noticed he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt as he pulled out of the parking lot. Hypocrite.

“What’s on your mind, kid?”

“Oh, uh.” Peter was at a loss for words. What conversation starters could he start with? He couldn’t think of anything. Why was Peter so boring?

“New rule. When one of us asks the other what we’re thinking about, we have to be honest and say what’s really on our minds.” Tony’s voice was playful, but Peter sensed a trace of seriousness.

Oh. So, there were _rules_ now. Peter shifted in his seat. Adjusted his pants so it wouldn’t be so noticeable if his dick got hard. Again.

“Well?” Tony was waiting.

Although Peter was fully aware this little game had more than enough potential to be disastrous, he nodded along. Maybe he was bored (he wasn’t) or maybe he just liked doing what Tony said (he just liked doing what Tony said).

“Go ahead.” Tony coaxed, probably completely unaware of the fire he was playing with. “Tell me what you were just thinking about.” Scratch that- _definitely_ unaware of the fire he was playing with. Otherwise, he would not have been doing this.

“I was thinking that this car fits well with your personality.”

“Good.” Tony said approvingly, which, yeah, went straight to Peter’s dick. _Jesus. Get a fucking grip, Parker_.  “Thanks. I’ve had this car for a couple years now. I like the consistency of Audis.”

Peter observed Tony’s thumb rubbing patterns against the steering wheel.

“What are you thinking about?” Peter relayed, without even completely meaning to. He was wondering, _obviously_ , but he didn’t realize he’d said the words until he heard his voice. Tony chuckled from the driver’s seat with amusement in his eyes.

“We had very different high school experiences.”  

“Oh,” Peter rolled his eyes, “you were cool.” Of course, he was. Peter could picture a high school Tony so easily: leaning against a brick wall, a cigarette hanging loosely form his lips as he effortlessly flirted with pretty brunettes in mom jeans.

“I was stupid.” Tony corrected, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Yep, that confirmed it. Tony was a popular cool kid in high school who was worshipped by girls and boys alike.

“So, I take it we wouldn’t have been friends?”

“Probably not.” Tony admitted, and switched the turning signal on. After a beat of silence, he opened his mouth to speak again. “I would have noticed you, though. Would have liked you from a distance, at the least.”

Sure. Like Tony would have even known Peter’s name.

“What does ‘from a distance’ mean, exactly?” Peter shivered and reached in front of himself to focus the A/C vents so the cold air wasn’t blowing on him. Peter could be such a wimp when it came to fall weather moving closer to winter. Tony, of course, noticed the action and proceeded to swiftly turn the heat and Peter’s seat warmer on.

“It means we would have been in different friend groups and probably wouldn’t have spent any time together, but I would have seen you in the halls and liked you.” He drummed his fingers against the wheel. Paused for a moment. “You’re the kind of person I should have been friends in high school with.”

“Why?” Peter snorted playfully. “Because I’d have done your homework and help you cheat on tests?” He would’ve done it, too. Tony wouldn’t have even had to ask; Peter probably would have just offered. That was the sad part.

“No,” Tony threw him a lighthearted glare, “because we would have balanced each other out.”

“My lameness with your coolness, you mean?” Peter felt himself lean farther back into his seat, more relaxed because he was warm. Because of Tony.

“No, kid.” Tony’s tone fell thoughtful. “I can just tell.” He shrugged. “We’d work well together. I mean, we would have.”  
_We’d work well together_.

“How would we balance each other out?” Peter feigned nonchalance by looking out the window and keeping his tone light. He didn’t want to scare Tony off. Not when he was basically saying how they complimented each other.

“I think I’d be good at getting you out of your own head sometimes.” The way he was talking, it was like Tony had already thought about it. “You get yourself wound up so tight and you need someone who knows how to unwind you.”

Someone should have created a law against ambiguous phrasing. That would have helped Peter’s mental state as he imagined all the ways Tony could unwind him.

            They arrived to the museum soon after that, and Tony whirled into a numbered parking spot towards the front. They started to walk towards the building before Peter paused.

“Oh, wait. Sorry, I’ll be right back. I totally forgot my wallet is in my backpack.”

Tony knitted his eyebrows together in confusion before Peter began walking back to the car. “What do you need your wallet for?”  

“Um, to buy my ticket.” For a moment, Peter was puzzled. Admission wasn’t free, was it? Tony purposely raised his keys in front of Peter and clicked the lock button, which caused the car to beep protectively.

“Kid, I’ve got it. Don’t worry about that.” Tony waved him off dismissively, sauntering towards him.

“No, that’s very nice, but you really don’t have to-”

“Peter.” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s back. “It’s okay. I invited you.” Peter felt himself being led away from the car and towards the front doors of the museum.

“Are you sure, Mr. Stark? I feel bad.”

“Technically, I’m not even buying tickets, so you shouldn’t feel bad at all.”

Before he could ask for clarification, Tony held the door open and ushered Peter through. Peter was immediately distracted by the beauty of the lobby. The room was incredibly open with large windows bringing in light. The walls were creamy white and there was a large globe statue in the center with the name of the museum in bold letters underneath. Tony’s click of his shoes against the marble floors claimed Peter’s attention and he quickly followed him to the front desk, where a young blonde woman stood up from her chair to greet them.

“Mr. Stark, welcome.”

 _Mr. Stark_? How did this woman know who Tony was? How often did Tony visit this museum?

 “Hey, Grace. This is Peter Parker.” Tony patted his back. “He’s going to need to be set up with a photo ID. No restrictions. Would you please work on that?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” Grace regarded him politely before eyeing Peter. “Could you stand against that wall, please?”

What was happening? Peter looked at Tony, who gave him an expectant nod with raised eyebrows. Shit, okay. Peter obediently moved towards the wall and grinned uncomfortably as Grace took a picture of him.

“I will begin on this right away, Mr. Stark.” She assured Tony before retreating back behind her desk.

“Perfect. Thank you, Grace. We’re going to check out the exhibit.”

“Enjoy your visit.” Grace flashed her pearly white teeth.

Tony thanked her and motioned for Peter to move from where he was standing to follow him into the next room. 

“I own part of the museum.” Tony explained casually as they walked down the hall. He may as well have proclaimed to like a new movie that was out, his tone was so indifferent. Peter, on the other hand, nearly choked on the air he was breathing. Because what the hell?

“You-you own part of this museum?” Peter’s eyes grew unnaturally large. “ _This_ museum? The one that we are in right now?”

Tony took a long, dramatic glance around the room. He strolled towards a white pillar and knocked on it a few times before leaning his back against it and focusing his gaze on Peter.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s this one.” When Peter’s scoff turned into a smile at his sarcasm, Tony’s lips quirked upwards into a smug grin. “Ready to see the exhibit?”

 

*

 

Peter geeked out.

 

Of course, there was a large simplified portion of the main dynamics for those weren’t familiar with nanotechnology, which was still so cool, even for someone like Peter who understood its concepts more extensively. because there were visual models of examples of nanotech applicable to the world and little workshops.

            Much of the exhibit was dedicated to the life of Richard Feynman, which was fascinating to learn about. Peter knew he was from Queens, but never would have imagined that he cracked safes for fun.

Feynman’s iconic lecture, “There’s Plenty of Room at the Bottom”, was audibly presented on a screen, so they could find certain sections, and see how they applied to his work on the monitor next to it.  

            That wasn’t the best part, though. His favorite part was Tony. Every time Peter looked at Tony, _every single time_ , he was already observing him, usually with a few fingers grazing his chin and a soft smile. Or he would shake his head and chuckle when Peter solved one of the nanotech puzzles on the workshop tables, or Tony would engage with him and . Peter wasn’t trying to show-off. He really was interested in everything the exhibit included…and if Tony looked proud and impressed with him, then that was a bonus.  

An hour later, they stood in front of a chemotherapy diagram, heavy into a discussion about nanotech’s involvement.

 “The particles are already more attracted to the diseased cells than the healthy ones,” Peter started, “but with the progression of nanotech, the particles could be manipulated so they focus solely on the diseased cells.” He was amazed. That was the only way he could’ve possibly expressed it. Every little detail was so important and vital to the big picture.

“The development of nanoparticles that transfer chemotherapy directly to the cancer cells is underway.” Tony replied swiftly.

“That’s going to save so many lives.” Peter looked in awe at the diagram. “Modern medicine becoming modernized? It’s like going from a Motorola RAZR to an iPhone X. We’ve already come so far just in the last decade and we have so much that’s just waiting for us to create or expand on.”

“Incredible, isn’t it? And it’s so much more than medicine.” Tony gestured to the solar panels. “Solar powered energy. If we can advance the manipulation of photovoltaic cells, solar energy could become more affordable, making renewable energy a viable option for those who didn’t used to be able to have it.”

“Or cleaning polluted water to the point where it can be safely consumed by humans-on a grand scale. Making battery life on our phones longer is inconsequential when we may never have to worry about running out of vital resources. If we monopolize it, who knows what we can do? This could be the solution to America’s debt.” Peter was so busy rambling that he didn’t notice that Tony had seemed to pause.  

“It’s nice, kid.” Tony put his hands in his pockets. “Talking to you like this. I don’t have to simplify concepts to you because you can keep up. You understand what I’m talking about.”

“Not all of it.” Peter lightly kicked the floor with his right shoe. “I still have so much to learn.”

“Hey, look at me.” Tony commanded, causing Peter’s eyes to move to his immediately. “What kind of seventeen-year-old knows, let alone, can explain in depth, what the Hellmann-Feynman theorem is?”

Yeah, Peter was not about to correct Tony and tell him that he was only sixteen. He was not going to ruin this moment. Not when Tony was making him feel so special.

And he had a point. They were on the same level. Granted, Tony probably (definitely) knew more than Peter did about nanotechnology and quantum physics, but that wasn’t the argument. Peter knew enough. He could talk and be _heard_ and Tony would understand and respond.  Tony was right. They worked well together.

            When they decided they were finally done looking at everything in the exhibit (which took them well over two hours), Tony and Peter headed back to the lobby. Grace was quick to get up from her seat and hand Tony an orange envelope.

“Here you are, Mr. Stark.” She stilled for a beat, flashing her eyes on Peter and then Tony. “I hope you two enjoyed your visit.”

“Thank you, Grace. We definitely did. Have a good evening.” Tony held the door open for Peter again, which he really shouldn’t have been overanalyzing in his head, but god damn, who said chivalry was dead? As they passed the fountain outside on their way to the parking lot, Tony handed the orange envelope to Peter.

“Here, kid.”  

Peter opened it and an ID card fell into his hand. He held it closely to his face to examine. It was the picture Grace took of him. Underneath was his name and the words “FULL ADMIN” along with a barcode and the museum’s insignia. Confused, Peter’s eyes flicked up to Tony’s.

“It’s for if you feel like coming here again.”

And bam.

“Are you serious?”

“It closes at six-thirty on weekdays. If you don’t want all the crowds during the day, swiping that card on the side panel by the door can get you in at night. The security guard’s name is Carl. He’s a good guy. Shouldn’t give you any trouble. I’m here a lot after it gets dark, so I’ll let him know not to tase you if you do ever decide to come back.”

“Mr. Stark, I-I mean, I don’t even know what to…” How was he supposed to form words?

“Don’t mention it, kid.” Tony said and shrugged it off, continuing to walk towards his car like it wasn’t a big deal. Which made Peter frown.

 _No, Tony. Don’t underplay this_.

 Peter needed for him to know how special this was, how much it meant to him.

Tony was giving Peter, a kid he barely knew, completely full access to a _museum_. A fucking museum. Tony only met him a few weeks ago. Peter could organize a heist if he wanted to. He could break valuables worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, or throw a party on the roof. To do something like this, Tony was putting so much trust in Peter. He wasn’t about to let Tony slip away without understanding how monumental this was to him.

It was important and Tony had to know that.

“Mr. Stark, wait.”

Tony must have heard the urgency in Peter’s voice because he stopped his movements just as he was clutching the car’s door handle.

Peter wanted to tell him.

Unthinkingly, Peter took the steps forward until he was standing right in front of him. Tony, completely quiet, watched him gingerly, like he knew what Peter wanted to do.

Peter wanted to show him.

In a perfect world, Peter would have kissed Tony right then. Would have cupped his lovely face in his hands, would have welcomed the coarseness of Tony’s facial hair against the pads of his skinny fingers, and connected their lips as he’d wanted to do since he first met him.

But Peter was a coward and they were in a parking lot, so he did the next best thing that came to mind.

Peter hugged him.

Tony’s surprise was evident in how he tensed when Peter first touched him. Peter nestled his face into Tony’s collarbone, cheek pressed against the man’s warm skin, arms draped around his lower back. Tony hesitated, but only for a moment before he gave in. Peter felt him lose his grip on the car door’s handle and wrap both arms around Peter’s back, holding him close and secure.

_Safe._

Peter went lax, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. Tony smelled like crushed mint leaves and fine leather. It might have been an expensive cologne or aftershave-or hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was just Tony’s natural scent. Peter wasn’t sure, but he was already addicted to it. He could already tell there was no way that scent was going to leave his mind until he smelled it again. Kind of like having a song stuck in his head. The only way to make it go away was to listen to the song--loudly--and on repeat for as many times as necessary until it eventually faded away. But as Peter and Tony finally pulled away from each other, it occurred to Peter that he wasn’t so sure he would ever be able to get him out of his head.

Tony was a different kind of song.

            When they got in the car, Tony was the first one to speak.

“Just…I don’t want you to feel pressured to use it.” He confessed in a somewhat uneasy tone, which caught Peter’s attention immediately. Was Tony _nervous_? “Because I know you’re busy with Decathlon and all that late-night studying-and hell, you might go bar-hopping on the weekends. I don’t know.”

“First, I wouldn’t even get served.” Peter interrupted. Tony tilted his head a bit and pursed his lips, unconvinced.  “And besides,” Peter added, flashing the card in Tony’s direction, “I would way rather do this.”

 _With you._ Peter almost said it. Fuck, he actually almost said it.

“I’m glad. Whatever you want to do, kid.” And there was that word again. _Kid_. The word Tony used that reminded Peter just how young he was, just how _wrong_ it was. Tony turned the ignition on and pulled out of the parking space. Peter didn’t even have time to pout about it because Tony changed the subject, almost like he was purposely trying to distract him. “Unfortunately, the exhibit is going to close in two weeks so if you want to go again to this one, I’d suggest going soon. We’re going to set up for something more historical. It’s safer to go with other stuff that most people really want to see.”

“Who wouldn’t want to see that?”

Tony smiled fondly, seemingly flattered. “As shocking as it is, not everyone in New York City is dying to see a science exhibit about nanotech. Granted, this has done surprisingly well, but we can’t keep taking chances like that just for my passion projects.”

 _My passion projects_? Nanotech, Richard Feynman, the whole exhibit was all Tony’s idea? God, he couldn’t take a five second break from being extraordinary, could he?   

“What do people usually like, then? Dinosaurs?”

“That’s popular. So are mummies.”   

Tony then launched into a conversation about the museum as a whole. They chatted about past and future exhibits for the rest of the ride. It was nice. When Tony pulled into Peter’s parking lot, he reached over and patted his shoulder. Peter considered Tony’s elevation of physical contact a huge bonus of getting to know him better, which was already a great thing in itself.

“Looks like you’re home, kid.” Tony smiled. It was almost dark outside.

“Really, thank you for taking me.” Peter said, a bit reluctant to get out of the car. Even after all the time they spent together today, he still wasn’t ready to leave Tony. “And thanks again for the Disney fast pass.”

Tony chuckled at his little, stupid joke, which warmed Peter’s insides and lifted his ego.

“Thank you for being interested.”

There it was again, hidden so subtly. Underneath his words laid a sense of doubt, like Tony thought Peter would’ve rather been passing a joint underneath the bleachers at his high school’s football game, and was so surprised he’d rather be hanging out at the museum with him.

“How could I not be interested?” Peter asked, his voice laced with conviction as he tried to get his point across. This was he who he was. Peter wanted this.

Okay, yeah, Peter was maybe talking about more than just nanotech.

“Well, I’m glad you are.”

Tony said it so clandestinely that Peter couldn’t refrain from wondering that Tony knew exactly what he was talking about. Even seemed to encourage it. And that…made Peter _feel_ things.

 

*

 

Peter was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he heard Ned’s very loud, very annoying ringtone calling from his bedroom. He rinsed his mouth out and set his toothbrush down before rushing to his room to grab the phone from his bedside table.  

“Hey, dude.” Peter switched the phone from his left ear to his right as he headed to the kitchen, careful not to be loud. It was late and his mom was asleep

“Hey, Peter. How was the museum?”

“Oh my god, it was so cool.” Peter started to feel himself get excited as he thought about it. “Feynman’s redefinition of quantum electrodynamics literally changed the way the world sees waves and particles.”

“Man, I have got to check out that exhibit.” Ned sighed. Peter grabbed a blue glass from the cabinet. He always went for blue.

“We can go this weekend if you want.” Peter offered, taking ice cubes from his freezer and dropping them in his glass. He filled it with water and headed back to his room.

“But you were just there.”

“Yeah, but I’d go again.” Peter would have loved to go again…he just wasn’t sure if he should mention Tony owning the museum or about the ID card that was currently sitting on his desk. He had just plopped on the bed, mulling over the pros and cons when Ned ripped the Band-Aid (Peter had no idea even existed) off.

“So, when were you going to tell me about your crush on Tony?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to 10k!!! I’m on my plane about to take off but I’m so glad I posted this before I lost service.
> 
> Also, I made a moodboard for it on my tumblr, richieloveseds, would love if you checked it out! 
> 
> If you don’t feel like doing that, please let me know what you liked in the comments :)


	5. Tony is Irritated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets irritated for all the right reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I think this is my favorite chapter so far.

If Peter’s life was a movie, Tony was quickly becoming one of the recurring lead roles. Peter stopped being surprised when he saw Tony’s car parked in front of his school in the afternoons. Tony picking Peter up from school was actually starting to be part of his normal routine. Of course, it didn’t happen every day (the man had a life and a job, after all), but two or three times weekly was more than enough for Peter to look forward to. Tony always seemed happy to see him, asking about his day and making sure his seatbelt was on (even though Tony always, _always_ neglected to put his own on).

The whole thing was crazy to Peter because Tony actually liked spending his time with him. He never ran out of things to say or ask Peter about, and just like how it was in the museum, Tony listened to what Peter had to say. The first three times, Peter avoided bringing petty teenage drama into the conversation as much as possible. He somehow thought Tony would forget how young Peter was if he dodged talking about high school, even as Tony was literally picking him up from school. But then, the bitching of a certain teacher or a mention of a homework assignment slipped into the conversation and Tony responded smoothly. It had only been a few weeks, but Peter loved it. He loved every single bit of attention Tony gave him.

            Like today. Tony was supposed to be picking him up. The bell had just rang and Peter walked outside, happy to see Tony’s car parked in its usual spot when Peter didn’t have Decathlon practice. Peter was heading to the car and had just given Tony a small wave when someone grabbed his wrist. Surprised, Peter spun around.

“Hey, Parker.” Flash greeted.

“Oh, hey.” Peter was actually sort of relieved it wasn’t Ned standing next to him. He didn’t need to give him any more reasons to think he was crushing on Tony. Not after he profusely denied the attraction until Ned relented and gave up asking. The little wave Peter gave Tony definitely wouldn’t have gone by unnoticed by Ned. Flash, on the other hand, was completely oblivious.

“Nice shirt.” Flash clapped a hand against Peter’s shoulder, feeling the material with his fingers. “What is that? Polyester?”  

“Uh, cotton. Thanks.” Peter looked at him strangely. Flash never complimented Peter or the clothes he wore.

“So, this paper in White’s class…”

Ah. That was why. Like most pricks, Flash was only nice when he wanted something.

“What about it?” Peter tried, but he couldn’t suppress his smile. He knew exactly what Flash was referencing. Their English teacher, Mr. White, assigned an essay for them to write today. Peter was the only student paying attention when he announced it and Mr. White had no problem gloating that Peter was the only one who was going to know what to do for the essay (which, thanks man, because Peter didn’t already feel nerdy enough in that class without his help). To Mr. White’s dismay, no one in the class cared about knowing the assignment so early, so they basically ignored him. The only exception was Flash, who was competitive to a fault, _especially_ against Peter.

            Peter never fully understood their rivalry. He was pretty certain it began somewhere in middle school. Flash just always felt the need to try to beat Peter in everything. Peter sometimes wondered if it was because he was a good match for Flash. He wasn’t trying to be conceited or anything, but Flash had to put in work to keep up with Peter’s grades. That wasn’t to say Peter didn’t work hard, too, he just didn’t do it for the same reasons. They had different motivations, that was all. Peter wanted to improve for the sake of bettering himself and expanding his knowledge, and Flash wanted to improve to beat Peter because it seemed to define his self-worth and make himself feel more valid. To each his own or whatever.  

 “You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Peter feigned ignorance. It must’ve killed Flash’s pride to ask Peter of all people for the assignment, so, yeah, it was a little funny to him.

“Come _on_ , Parker.” Flash groaned. “I know you’re a pain in the ass, but I never took you for vindictive.”

“Ouch.” Peter patted his heart sympathetically. “Words hurt, Flash.”

“Are you going to tell me? Or do you want me to get on my knees and beg?”

It would have been amusing to see, but Flash was right; Peter wasn’t cruel.

“Chapter 11, page 87. _King Lear_.” Peter started to walk back towards Tony’s awaiting car, but Flash took his wrist again, stopping Peter’s movements.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Flash frowned. “Not so fast, Parker. What about the questions?”

Peter glared at him. He hadn’t even said so much as a ‘thank you’ for practically the whole assignment. This guy was something. It would take him two hours to read the play, anyway, but no, Flash couldn’t wait until tomorrow to know what came after that. Even though the essay was due in two weeks, he _had_ to know everything immediately so he could put in all his effort that night and work his hardest to get a higher score than Peter. Unbelievable. Sure, color-coding was in the back of Peter’s head to start tonight, and maybe brush up on the first act, but it wasn’t to spite his annoyingly arrogant classmate.  

“Parker.” Flash slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders and gave him a huge smile. “ _Please_.”

Peter felt his irritability melt into amusement and he laughed. It was kind of incredible how big of a schmooze Flash was. If he needed something from someone, Flash would act like they had been best friends for years, even if it was a stranger on the subway.

“Character analysis on Cordelia. Also, theme, and how it affects family and justice. Now, please get off, I’ve got to go.” He really did have to leave. Peter kept Tony waiting long enough.

“Thanks, Parker.” Flash called him ‘Parker’ more than anyone Peter knew. He thought it was annoying and was certain that’s why Flash loved to say it. Peter gave him a tight-lipped smile and headed to Tony’s car.

“Who was that?” was the first thing Tony said to him when he opened the car door.

“What?” Peter climbed in the passenger seat, placing his backpack on the floor by his feet.

“The guy you were talking to, who was he?” Peter was taken aback by the serious tone of his voice.

“Flash.” Peter replied immediately, and searched Tony’s eyes, which were a shade darker than usual. Had Peter done something to piss him off?

“His name is Flash?” Tony asked in disbelief and ran a hand through his hair. “How do you know him?”

“Uh…school.” He answered blankly. Peter couldn’t even spend longer than five seconds berating himself for how dumb he just sounded because he was way too focused on this spectacle in front of him.

“Are you friends?” Tony’s voice was raw and stern and his eyes were doing that thing where they stared into Peter’s soul--and Jesus Christ, Peter just noticed his fingers were white on the steering wheel from clutching it so hard. This all escalated so quickly and fuck, they hadn’t even said hello to each other yet.

What was _happening?_

“I wouldn’t really say that we’re friends.” He answered slowly, trying to think of how to arrange his words. “I mean, we have a lot of the same classes and we do Decathlon together.”

Peter’s response was honest and logical and made every bit of sense to him, but he could tell what he was saying was not helping at all. If Tony’s clenched jaw was anything to go by, he was just making it worse. He had never seen Tony so tense and okay, fine, yes it made Peter’s dick a little harder than it usually was around Tony, he’d admit that to himself, but it also unsettled him because Tony was obviously distraught.

In that moment, Peter didn’t want to begin to wonder why Tony cared if he and Flash were friends. He didn’t want to analyze just what was making Tony upset. For maybe the third time in his whole life, Peter just wanted to follow his instincts and do what felt right without thinking of the consequences, whatever form that may take. And in that moment, Peter was overcome with the urge to comfort him.

“Don’t worry.” Peter said reassuringly. “He was just asking about homework.”

Of course, Peter’s rational side appeared the moment after he said the words out loud, when it was too late to take them back. And what the fuck, Peter? Why did he say that? Why would he tell Tony not to worry about some classmate he was talking to? Why would he say that to his mom’s boyfriend? What was there to worry about?

“Are you sure?” Tony seemed the slightest bit relieved, but his eyes were burning into Peter’s like he was trying to decipher the Rosetta Stone.  

“Yeah. He just wanted to know what the assignment is for English. We have a Shakespeare essay.”

Tony nodded, accepting.  

“Okay. Good.” He tore his eyes away from Peter’s (thank fuck, because Peter really needed oxygen) and shifted the car’s gears. Tony started to take his foot off the brake, but hesitated.

“Peter.”

Holy fuck.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Seatbelt.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Peter had never buckled up faster in his goddamned life.

 

*

 

Tony and Mary were arguing.

Peter could hear it from his room. Well, bits and pieces. Mary was loud, full-on yelling, even, but when she was angry, she was known to go through words very quickly, so Peter was struggling to keep up through the crack of his bedroom door.

“You’re right-it’s none of your business, so drop it!” Mary had to have been seething, her tone was boiling hot.

Peter should’ve just stuck his face in a textbook and tried to study, but the temptation to eavesdrop was too strong. What were they fighting about? Nothing weird happened during dinner. It was normal. So, what was it? The curiosity tugged at Peter annoyingly. Tony’s voice in response to Mary’s was more leveled and definitely quieter. Peter couldn’t understand his words, but through the mumble, he heard solidity and composure…and a twinge of frustration.

Gingerly, Peter twisted his doorknob and pulled it until the door was the slightest bit more opened. He pressed his ear close and caught a few of Tony’s words as they were strung out.

“him being alone”, “Mary, can you…”, and “I don’t understand why” were the three phrases Peter made out, and even then, he wasn’t completely positive that was what Tony said.

Was this what Peter’s life had come to? Eavesdropping on his mom and her boyfriend’s first fight? Ashamed, he closed the door. Peter occupied himself with _King Lear_. Mary and Tony’s voices were muffled for the next few minutes until they ceased completely.

 

*

 

Peter felt like an idiot for believing for even a fraction of a moment that he would be able to stay asleep.

He kept drifting back to earlier in the day. Maybe Tony thought Flash was bullying Peter…but that didn’t make sense. Yeah, Flash was constantly a dick to Peter, but he never did anything to physically hurt him. In fact, from an outsider’s perspective, it may have even looked like they were friends.

Peter resisted the urge to grab his phone off the bedside table. If he didn’t know what time it was, maybe he could just assume it was still early. If he woke up the next morning under the illusion that he was more rested than he really was, Peter might be more inclined to power through the day. Peter forced himself to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Peter thought back to their most recent interaction. Flash had his arm around him. Peter was smiling and at one point, he was pretty sure he laughed. Was this jealousy?

Fuck. There was no way he could fall back asleep now.  

With a defeated sigh, he reached blindly for his phone. 4:12 AM.

Peter wandered around the dark into the kitchen. He took a glass from the cabinet and turned to the fridge to fill it up with water when he noticed a figure sitting idly on a stool by the counter.

“Holy shit!” Peter jumped, nearly dropping his glass out of his hands. 

“I was wondering if you were going to notice me.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter rubbed his eyes. He was wearing some kind of band tee shirt, mug sitting in front of him. “You’re still awake?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. And I guess you weren’t joking about that insomnia problem you’ve got.

How often does that happen to you? The whole waking up in the middle of the night thing?” Tony asked. Peter could have sworn there was worry evident in his voice.

“A lot.” He admitted, and finished filling his glass with water before approaching Tony. His throat was already feeling dry being around Tony. “More than I’d like.”

“Sit down, kid.” Tony gestured to the chair next to him. Peter swallowed before doing as he was told.  

“You look more nervous than usual.” Tony noted. Peter stared resolutely into his glass of water.

“I heard,” Peter began nervously, already feeling his throat close up, especially with the older man’s attention now completely on him, “that-uh, well I heard earlier the fight that you and my mom had.” Peter spared a quick glance up at Tony to gauge his reaction. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes reflected hints of regret.

“I’m sorry, Peter. You shouldn’t have had to hear any of that.”

Oh, no. He wasn’t trying to guilt-trip Tony. He didn’t want that. Peter shook his head.

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s not that. I mean, I’m not mad that I heard it. It’s fine that you argued. Well, obviously it’s not fine. Arguing isn’t good. I mean, I know couples argue. I just-”

“Peter.” Peter was too focused on the patient way Tony said his name to notice the man’s hand reaching out to touch his until he felt warm, sturdy fingers wrap around the back of Peter’s shaky hand. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just relax.”

Peter felt himself being pulled into a state of ease with each reassuring rub of Tony’s index finger against his knuckles. As Peter exhaled, his shoulders abandoned their tension and sagged. Tony noticed this and slowly nodded approvingly. “There you go, kid...Good.”

Yeah, if Peter was a more cynical person, he could have focused on Tony’s use of the word “kid”, but he was way too busy hoping Tony missed the way his cheeks flared at being told he was good. It was embarrassing how just a few words from the man and a harmless brush of his fingers could affect Peter’s disposition so drastically. He didn’t understand just how easily Tony could put him in a trance, to the point where he was hanging on to every word he said. The worst part was Tony probably wasn’t even aware of it.

 “Now,” Tony’s voice interrupted Peter’s train of thought, and he immediately snapped back to the older man’s solid brown eyes, “tell me what you were really trying to say.”

And there it was. No more beating around the bush. No more fumbling and stalling.

“Are you okay?” Peter was surprised by the fluidity of his own words, yes, but more than that, how Tony could just pull them out of him like he had done it his whole life.

“What?” Tony’s fingers stilled their comforting motion, causing Peter to shrink. Shit. Did he say something wrong? Did he do something bad? Peter wanted to move his hand closer, to brush it back against Tony’s fingers, to do anything to bring Peter’s want to the older man’s attention, but he refrained. Maybe because he knew how inappropriate it was to seek physical affection from his mother’s boyfriend, _maybe_ , but Peter knew the real reason-because he wasn’t sure that he had _earned_ Tony’s touch.

“You want to know if I’m okay?”

Shyly, Peter’s gaze met his lap. He nodded, worried his words could land him in worse waters.

“Kid, look at me.”  

As Peter met Tony’s gaze, he saw his lips curve upwards into a smile.

 _Thank God_.

Peter felt relief immediately. He was pleased by Peter’s question. Tony’s expression had awestruck written all over, with his eyebrows raised and lips parted. There was a glint in his eyes Peter knew he would be analyzing the hell out of later.

“I’m okay, Peter. It was just a petty argument. We’re working through it. It means a lot that you asked.”  

“Oh, okay, Mr. Stark. I was just wondering. Clearly, it bothered you enough to not be able to sleep.”

“Oh, that’s not why I can’t-” Tony cut himself off before he could finish his sentence. He smiled, almost to himself before regarding Peter. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Okay, good."

“I really appreciate that, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart.

“You’re welcome.” Peter said because he didn’t know what else to say. He really wanted to thank God for allowing this moment to take place at all, but especially in the dark, where Tony couldn’t see his blush.

“Speaking of sleep, I guess I should try again to get some. You should do the same.”

Right. Like that was possible. Peter gave a noncommittal shrug, to which Tony frowned at.

“What, don’t think you can sleep?”

Peter shook his head.

“Bet I know what keeps you up at night.” Tony leaned back in his chair. The way he was looking at him, Peter had no doubt Tony could read his mind, see every dirty fantasy Peter had dreamt up. “All those thoughts.” Tony spoke so slowly. He made a swift hand gesture, moving his fingers up and down in the air sinuously. “You’ve got so many in that pretty head of yours, don’t you, Peter?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Peter almost fucking moaned and Tony wasn’t even touching him. He probably didn’t even mean it the way Peter was taking it, but that didn’t stop his dick from throbbing in his sweatpants.

Tony smiled and stood up from the chair. He placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

When Peter got to his room, his hand was down his pants before he could even close his bedroom door. He threw his sweatpants off to find his head was already glistening with pre-cum. Peter didn’t waste any time, didn’t even make an attempt to reach for the lotion under his bed; didn’t need it. Peter wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked himself off-fast and hard. _Sweetheart_. Fuck. He came embarrassingly fast, nearly breaking the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth in an attempt to suppress his moans.

            Peter fell back onto his mattress, panting. He waited until his breaths were back at a normal pace before grabbing a pillow from next to him, covering it over his face, and screaming.

 

 

 

 

[Tumblr post that inspired this au (specifically the kitchen scene)](https://im-a-goner--foryou.tumblr.com/post/174403380188/httpsim-a-goner-foryoutumblrcompost174170881383)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the scene in the kitchen at night was actually the very first part I ever wrote of this story. That was right after I saw that AU idea on Tumblr. I saw the gif of Tony calling Peter 'sweetheart' and I was obsessed. If you haven't seen the post from tumblr yet, please check it out! The lovely im-a-goner-for--you made it <3 her blog is amazing! link clickable above. 
> 
>  
> 
> Tumblr- richieloveseds
> 
> Hope you guys liked this one! Things are going to get pretty crazy soon, so stick around :) let me know if you liked it in the comments


	6. The Stark Internship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets two offers he cannot refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys. I was pushing myself to have this chapter done a couple of days ago, but it just wasn't going how I'd like. Some chapters are easier to write than others and this one took me forever. I'm trying to post frequently to be consistent, but I don't want to deliver something lacking in quality to meet a personal deadline. I'd rather put the extra attention into it if it needs it, and this chapter needed that extra attention. I apologize for the wait, but here it is :) hope you enjoy.

“What’s next on the list?”

Peter fished for the paper in the pocket of his hoodie and unfolded it to read. “Uh, bread?”

Mary and Peter’s grocery shopping adventures were a bimonthly occurrence. Basically, on days off when Mary noticed they were out of essentials, she dragged Peter with her to restock. Dragged was a bit of an exaggeration, though. Peter wouldn’t put it under a list of his favorite hobbies, but he did enjoy grocery shopping with his mom. It had become a sort of bonding experience for them, in a way. Sure, maybe that was kind of lame, but, well, Peter was kind of lame, too.

 “Ooh, hang on! I’m out of sage.” Mary darted out of sight as she cut into an aisle. Peter slowed to make the turn and winced when the cart knocked a bag of flour off a shelf. Typical. Peter never failed to get the most malfunctioning grocery cart. He always chose either the cart with the wheel permanently bent, making turning nearly impossible, or the one that made that consistent, loud banging sound with every three feet he pushed it. Peter wondered if maybe they all sucked as he picked up the flour and put it back.

“I’m kind of in the mood for chicken tonight.” Mary said, plucking one of the spices off the rack. “Tony seems to really like it, too. Do you want chicken?”

 “Yeah, uh, chicken sounds good.” Peter tapped his fingers against the cart nonchalantly. “So, Mr. Stark is coming over again tonight?”

Okay…Peter was well aware that Tony told him it was just a petty argument. But Peter knew his mother better than Tony did, and what could appear as a slight infraction to most people could mean a completely different thing to Mary.

“Maybe.” Mary studied the label of the spice before placing it in the cart. “He might be working, so he’s not sure if he can yet.”

When Mary got into fights with her past boyfriends, it wasn’t uncommon for Peter to not see them for days, sometimes even weeks. So, alright, he was a little surprised that Tony was even welcomed for dinner tonight.

“But you want him to come over?” Peter, pushing the cart, followed her out of the aisle.

“Yeah, honey. Why are you surprised? Are you getting tired of seeing him?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” It could never be something like _that_. “I just…thought you were in a fight.” Peter suggested as they made another turn.

“Oh, from last night?” Mary spared him an amused glance. “I’d hardly call that a fight, Peter. Don’t worry, it’s been resolved, anyway.” She held up two loaves of bread. “Whole wheat or rye?”

“Whole wheat?” Peter shrugged indifferently.  He did not know how to feel in this situation and it was frustrating. Tony and Mary made up so quickly. He was happy they worked it out. Wasn’t he?

“That does remind me, though,” Mary said, placing the bread in the cart, “I have to ask you something.”

“Okay.” Not okay.

She knew. She fucking knew that Peter was disgustingly obsessed with her boyfriend. He was going to get, at the very least, publicly embarrassed in a fucking Trader Joe’s, and at worst, kicked out of the house. He’d have to crash on Ned’s couch for a few weeks until his parents would inevitably have to kick him out, which would then force Peter to drop out of high school, searching for a job he was qualified for, probably a cashier at a grocery store-maybe even the one they were in right now. How awkward would that be if he saw Mary shopping here? No, he couldn’t work at this one. Too many bad memories. Fuck, who was he kidding? A job as a cashier wouldn’t pay enough for him to live by himself in Queens. He might as well write Brooklyn and Manhattan off the list while he was at it.

“So, last night,” Mary started and Peter gripped the cart harder, willing himself not to pass out, “Tony and I were discussing how you are sometimes, a bit more than I’d like, left home alone. I was defensive, so I might have raised my voice louder than I should have and that’s what you might have overheard.”

 “Your fight was about _me_?” Peter couldn’t believe it. He was still stuck deciding if he should be moving to Albany versus Buffalo.

“It wasn’t a fight!” Mary was quick to correct. “More of a misunderstanding.”

“But it was about me.” The conversation Peter felt guilty trying to eavesdrop on was about him. This…wasn’t what Peter expected.

He was stumped.

“Tony understands that I have to work weird hours at the hospital, but he doesn’t like that you are left alone a lot, and frankly, neither do I.”

Okay, Peter had to stop gaping like a fish and start processing right the fuck now. Tony was not okay with the idea that Peter was alone in the apartment when Mary was at work? He didn’t think Tony even noticed. Hell, Peter didn’t even notice and he was supposedly the neglected victim in this situation.

“I told him that you are independent, you know, that you don’t mind being by yourself. Trust me, he very much understands that you aren’t like most kids your age. I think that’s why he is a little protective of you.”

“Oh.” Because what was Peter supposed to say to that? Tony was protective of him? Peter was torn between being flattered from his concern, and a bit coddled because, really, he was fine. Tony didn’t need to worry.

 “I’ll admit at first, I was angry at him. I didn’t think it was his place and I felt like he was blaming me for not being around enough.”

“You are around enough.” Peter assured. He didn’t know where this was going yet, but Peter definitely did not want Mary to feel guilty for working too much. That was just ridiculous. 

“Honey, let’s face it--half the time you come home from school, I’m not there.”

Okay, maybe that was true, but Peter wasn’t suffering from it.

“My hours are crazy,” Mary continued, “my shifts change all the time. I love that we can do these dinners and go grocery shopping like we are right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are left alone more often than not.”

But what did that mean? Mary had supposedly come to this grand epiphany, but what action was she going to take? He felt like there was a missing piece this was all building up to. Peter didn’t need her to be around more. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to be; he wouldn’t mind if Mary was there every day he came from school. It just wasn’t realistic. Mary needed those hours at the hospital to make money. She couldn’t sacrifice that, so where was she going with this? He would have heard about it already if she had gotten some sort of a raise or promotion.

“At first,” Mary continued, “I was mad at Tony, but then we talked more about it and he clarified that he just wanted to be around more. He wants to help out with you.” She reached out and rested her hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Honey, I know I have only been seeing him for about two and a half months now and it’s still early in the relationship, but how could I be upset with that? Most men aren’t interested in hanging out with their girlfriend’s sons. You seem to really like him, too, don’t you?”

‘Uh, yeah.” Peter cleared his throat. “He’s cool.” _I want him to deflower me._

 “Having some sort of older male influence would be good for you.”

“Mom,” Peter cut in, “I don’t see Tony as my dad or anything like that.” Because, really, he had to say it. Mary didn’t have to know about his crush, but Peter couldn’t let her think that he thought of Tony as his dad. That was just…weird.

“Of course, honey!” Mary jumped in even faster, probably sensing Peter’s apprehension. “I’m not expecting you to. I just think he’s a good influence on you. Carol’s wedding is so soon and I was worried about what to do with you anyway. Of course, you’re more than capable of being left home alone, Peter, but I would sleep easier knowing Tony’s watching you.”

Mary kept talking, but Peter could only hear his own thoughts. Peter had just recently accepted that Tony genuinely liked spending his time with him. All of this other stuff? The concern and the care? It was so much _more_. What had Peter done to deserve any of it?

“Tony and I were talking last night.” The mention of Tony’s name regained Peter’s attention. “He brought up the idea of offering you a position to work with him at the museum. Tony would be mentoring you.”

_What?_

“Like an internship?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mary nodded. “An internship. You have time to consider it. Regionals are coming up, so I know you are going to be putting in a ton of work for Decathlon.”

“Mr. Stark wants to offer me an internship at his museum?” He had to say the words out loud to make sure they were real.

“Is that something you might be interested in?”

Might be interested in? Peter had already nutted his pants.

“It’s definitely something I’m interested in.”

“It’ll look great for colleges.” Right, let’s pretend that’s why Peter wanted to do it. “You can talk to Tony more about it tonight.” Mary assured. “So, what’s next on the list?”

 

*

 

“So, your mom mentioned the internship thing to you?” Tony smiled, leaned against the side of Peter’s bedroom door.

It was after dinner and Peter had retired to his room. Tony didn’t take too long to follow him.

“Yeah, she did…You’re serious?” Peter knew Tony wouldn’t lie about something like this, but it still felt too good to be true. Carol’s wedding was the main topic of conversation during dinner, but Tony clearly hadn’t forgotten to talk to Peter about it.

“I’m always serious. Didn’t you know?” Tony cracked a smile before his face settled into a sincere expression. He sat down next to Peter on the bed. “Really though, kid. I want your input. The hours are scattered at the moment, but we can fix that and get set up with a schedule. Right now, I’m thinking we start at two to three times per week. Not on days you have Decathlon and not always right after school.”

Peter was trying to focus on everything Tony was saying and was doing a pretty good job at nodding along, but damn, they were sitting so _close._ Their thighs were half an inch away from being pressed against each other. Peter could close the gap. How could he not think about that?

Tony held out his hand. “Give me your phone.” 

“Why?” Peter asked curiously, after he had already taken out his phone and handed it to the man.

“You are going to need my number.” Tony started to tap at his phone.

Holy shit. Tony was putting his phone number into Peter’s phone and he didn’t even have to ask for it. What did Peter do to deserve two miracles in one day?

“Here you go.” Tony’s fucking index finger brushed Peter’s palm when he put the phone in his hand.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. Tony met his gaze and holy shit, Peter was trapped. He could drown in everything Tony. The mint and leather scent was teasing him, making him hard. Peter was starting to feel lightheaded from breathing in too much trying to sniff it. Peter could feel the warmth radiating from his body just by being so close to him. He wanted to know what Tony felt like underneath his shirt, if he was as hot as a furnace to the touch. Peter wanted to know a lot of things. For one, if Tony knew what he was doing to Peter.    

“Thank you. For the internship. This means a lot to me.”

“You deserve it.” Tony said sincerely. Well, that wasn’t true. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Tony stopped him. “Don’t argue. You do deserve it.”

“Okay.” Peter said obediently, blushing. “Thank you.”

Tony looked like he wanted to say more, but before he had the chance, Peter’s phone rang. In Ned’s annoying yodeling ringtone. Oh, God. Peter wanted to hit himself for not already changing it.

“You should take that.” Tony touched Peter’s back, fingers lingering for a second longer than they should have been before he stood up. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Ned?” Peter answered the phone once Tony walked out of his room.

“Dude, you are never going to believe what is happening tonight!”

“What is happening tonight?”

“Party! Perhaps the most lit party of junior year!”

“Oh.” Peter was not feeling a party tonight.

“Peter, please!”

“Ned, I kind of just wanted to go to bed. I’m sorry, dude, I’m just really worn out.” Peter was also still kind of hard, okay? He had to deal with that.

“Peter, _please_.” Ned begged. “I need you, man. Any other night, I’d be okay with you bailing, but this party is literally epic. Please.”

Peter looked down at his crotch and sighed.

“I’ll ask my mom, but if she says that I can’t, then there’s nothing I can do.”

“Thank you! I’m at your front door.”

“Right _now_?” Peter hopped off of his bed. “Jesus, Ned. Hang on.” Peter jogged out of his room and through the hallway to get to the door.

“We’ve got to get going.” Ned said as soon as he opened it. He leaned close to Peter. “They have a keg.” He whispered.

“Okay, hang on, I have to ask Mary.”

Ned followed Peter into the kitchen.

Tony was seated at the same stool he sat in just the night before when he and Peter talked. Mary was standing to the opposite of him, leaning against the counter with her glasses on, reading something off of her iPad.

“Hey, Ned’s here.” Peter approached the table with his best friend.

“Oh, hey, Ned. How are you?” Mary greeted.

“Hey, Ned.” Tony offered a friendly smile.

“Good, thanks. Good to see you.” Ned returned their grins before nudging Peter subtly.

Oh, right.

“Can I uh, can I go to a party tonight?”

Say no. Please, fuck, say no. If there was ever a time when Mary absolutely needed to read her son’s mind, this was that time.

Peter was tired, okay? He was too tired to even completely appreciate how attractive Tony looked right now (which was not okay with him at all).

“Tonight? Like, right now?”

“Yeah.” Like in this exact moment. This was so completely short-noticed that she should be offended that he’d even ask.

“Please, Ms. Parker!” Ned jumped in as soon as hesitation was in the air. Peter fought the urge to groan. “This party is not an every-weekend type of party.”

“Whose party is this?” Mary asked amusedly. Shit. She was sold already. Peter could tell.

“Her name is _Cindy_.” Ned emphasized, as if having the name Cindy automatically granted her the title of being the most angelic person alive. “It’s at her house. She’s on the Decathlon team with us. In fact, everyone from the team is going, so it would be weird if we didn’t show up.”

“Everyone from Decathlon is going?” Tony asked, eyebrows furrowed, gaze nervously flicking between Ned and Peter.  

“Yeah. _Everyone_.” Ned picked up his phone. “Let’s see…Cindy, obviously, Abraham, Kelly, Sarah, Liz, Flash, Gregory, Amelia, they’re all there right now. We’re the only ones missing.” Ned held up his hands in pray-mode. “Please, Ms. Parker?”

“Well, I guess it is Friday night…do you have a ride?”  

“I can call an Uber right now.” Of course, he could.

 “Kid?” Tony’s voice snapped Peter out of his thoughts. He met Tony’s concerned eyes. “You sure you want to go?”

Tony understood.

Peter didn’t have to explain anything to him; he just got it by looking at him. Tony got that no, Peter did not want to go to this party. It was Friday night and he was lame and that was okay. For a blissful moment, all Peter felt was gratitude. Tony was staring at him with that considerate, knowing expression and God, all Peter wanted to do was touch him. It didn’t even have to be in a sexual way. Honestly, Peter was in no position to be picky when it came to Tony’s affection. He’d settle for a high five at this point. Sure, if there was a genie lamp lying around and it was taking wishes, he’d prefer a three-hour-long cuddle session with Tony’s arms constricted around him and Peter’s face nuzzled into his collarbone, but unfortunately, Peter was fresh out of genies.

“Kid?”

Peter blinked and Tony was still sitting at the stool, waiting for an answer.

_Oh, right. Reality._

“Sorry, yeah, I want to go.” Peter mumbled back, unable to meet Tony’s eyes. Tony didn’t seem convinced; if anything, when Peter looked back at him, he appeared even more troubled, wearing a frown.

“Okay, well, have fun and be safe!” Mary chirped, and at those words, Ned was practically dragging Peter to the Hyundai Sonata waiting for them outside.

 “Dude, look at how many people are there already in Flash’s story.” Ned gushed once they were in the car, shoving the phone in front of Peter’s face. Sure enough, the party looked packed, with dim lighting and the teenagers holding solo cups, like it was straight out of a cliché teen movie. “Who knows? You might meet someone who can take your mind off of Tony.”

Like that was even possible.  

He didn’t even have the energy to deny his crush to Ned. Peter would never find another Tony Stark. Maybe that was stupid because he was young and he hadn’t been to many places outside of New York, and he’d get over this little crush eventually, but God, that felt so far away.

“Hey, I know you weren’t really feeling like going to this, but I’m happy you are.” Ned smiled at him. “It’s going to be fun, man.”

Instantly, Peter was overcome with guilt. His best friend wanted to go to a party with him and he was just sulking about it. It was just a party. For Ned’s sake, Peter had to put on a happy face. He could put himself in the partying mood.

“You’re right, Ned. We’ll have a good time.”

Well. There was no backing out now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all comments are appreciated. Next chapter will be up much sooner. I CANNOT WAIT for you guys to read it. I don't want to spoil anything, but I've been working on it for a while and I think it's going to make you Feel Things. I don't want to make any promises on the exact date it's coming out because I was two days late for this chapter, but with how smoothly it's going, the next chapter should be up in three days. :D


	7. Peter Tries Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter attends the party and drinks some tequila.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it took longer than I thought it would but cheers to 5,000 words!!!
> 
>  
> 
> ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy

Peter was not equipped for this.

The party was packed. Like, fucking _packed_. Kids from different schools. First off, there was no way Cindy even knew all these people and second, where even was she?

It didn’t help that he completely lost Ned the second they walked through the door. Peter worked to make his way through the crowd, struggling to find Ned.

“Hey, Parker!”

Peter turned to see Flash waving him over from the bar. Peter was relieved to see a familiar face after having been pushed through a sea of strangers, even if it was the one of his frenemy. He quickly made his way to the bar.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Flash asked, leaning on his palms against the counter. Obviously, Flash had to acknowledge their rivalry within the first ten seconds of their interaction (otherwise, was it even a rivalry?).

“Shouldn’t you?” Peter replied half-heartedly. To be fair, he wasn’t really in the mood to compare dick sizes. Fortunately, Flash seemed to have sensed Peer’s enervation because he dropped it.

“Touché. So, what’ll it be?”

“You’re the mixologist now? What happened to your DJ career?” Peter tried to follow the sound to look for his equipment, but the music was blasting in all directions, so it was impossible to tell where it was coming from or who was currently manning it.  

“Like they could find someone better.” Flash scoffed. “No, that’s definitely still happening. I’m just taking a break to hydrate.” He held up his beer and took a swig before putting it back on the table. “Besides, playing bartender is fun. So, what do you want?”

            Okay, here was the thing: Peter was a little…new to the whole _drinking_ thing. He wasn’t really on the same wave as most of his peers. Beer was gross, alright? The idea that people out there genuinely enjoyed the bitter, overly-carbonated taste of beer was shocking. Peter was half-convinced they were just faking it (really, how could his classmates _chug_ that stuff? It was beyond him). It wasn’t like Peter had never been drunk before. Basically, Peter drank sometimes. Lightly.

“Actually, I think I’m good right now. Thanks, though.”

“Come on, Parker.” Flash groaned. “It’s a party.”

“Okay, fine, fine. What do you have?” Peter regarded the various bottles of liquor with large eyes. “Actually, can you just pick something?”

“Dealer’s choice?” Flash’s grinned widened, sort of wickedly, and yep, Peter regretted that decision immediately. “Alright, Parker, let’s see…” Flash disappeared from Peter’s sight as he crouched down to scan the lower cabinets. “Tequila seems like a viable option to me.”

“That might be too strong.” Besides small sips from Mary’s margaritas from when they went on vacation, Peter never had tequila before.

“Too strong?” Flash stood up holding the bottle. “I guess I could mix it with grapefruit juice.” Peter stared dully at him, unwavering, causing Flash to roll his eyes. “Honestly, Parker, why bother coming to a party if you aren’t going to party?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my choice tonight to even be here.” So, there was that.

“Why’s that? Your mom and her boyfriend kick you out so they could have some time alone?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Peter wanted to throw up. That was definitely a thought he never wanted to cross his mind. Ever. And now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Gross. No, that’s not-Flash, that’s gross.”

“Don’t be childish. They’re _dating_. You think they’re just holding hands?” Peter wasn’t sure if Flash was provoking him on purpose. Intentional or not, it was working.

“Give me a shot.”

“That’s more like it, Parker.” Flash took two shot glasses from the cabinet and set them down on the table. He swiftly snatched a bottle from the counter and poured it to the brim of the shot glasses. “Get it while it’s hot.” Flash encouraged, picking up his glass. Peter followed his actions and they clinked together. When the alcohol hit his tongue, it tasted like straight poison (not that Peter had any idea what poison tasted like, but it _had_ to be something like that) and burned his throat, but Peter forced himself to swallow.

“Oh, fuck.” He sputtered and reached for the nearest soda can to chase the taste away.

When he finally recovered, no longer feeling the sting of his throat, Peter looked up to see that Flash was already filling up the shot glasses again.

“Hey, I’m good.” Peter put his hand up like a traffic cop. “I don’t want another one right now.”

“Parker, it’s just one more.” Flash pushed the shot glass in his hand. “Come on, how much harm can two shots do?”

Peter didn’t fucking know. It wasn’t his fault that the American public education system was a disaster. The most his drug ed class ever got to learning about alcohol was when they spent an afternoon watching an outdated ‘90s video starring a clay liver named Louis who spoke in a French accent and drank too much wine. What was he supposed to take from that?

“Flash, I really don’t-”

“-Just drink it!” Flash insisted. “Come on. We’ll do it together.” He stared at Peter, almost challengingly, like he dared him to give an excuse Flash was ready to shut down.

So, this was what the kids called peer pressure.

Did Peter even consider Flash a peer? He felt warmth creep into his body as the first shot began to take effect and then he forgot why he was fighting another shot anyway. Peter Parker was a teenager at a party and this was what teenagers at parties did. Why was he resisting so much? Fuck it.

“You should be a lawyer.” Peter said before throwing his head back and taking the second shot.

All Peter could think about was how disappointed Louis would’ve been if he could have seen Peter right now. That, and how terribly the alcohol burned. It was okay, though, because he would choose both of those options over thinking about his mom and Tony together. Anything was better than that.

 

*

 

Peter was possibly the drunkest he’d ever been. He wasn’t completely one-hundred percent positive, but he definitely didn’t recall being this drunk in a _long_ time.

Peter had found Ned and they hung out for a bit before Ned mentioned something about having to go home. What was that about? Peter didn’t really remember, he was pretty sure it had something to do with his mom? Anyway, after Ned left, Peter spent most of the party by Flash’s side. Flash, who was being uncharacteristically nice to him (what was that about?). He showed Peter all his DJ stuff and even let him pick a song. Flash shut that down pretty fast as soon as the opening notes to “Fireflies” by Owl City boomed through the speakers (“It’s a great song!” Peter had argued. “No! Just no! It has never been a good song! You’re done!”).

It was around half an hour later when Peter told Flash he felt like throwing up. Flash let out this really long, inconvenienced sigh before taking off his headphones and clicking a few buttons on some kind of tech box.

“Alright, Parker,” Flash put an arm around him and hoisted Peter up, “I think it’s time we got you out of here.”

He proceeded to walk with Peter through the house and out the front door, towards the lawn.

“Hey, watch it, Parker!” Flash snapped as Peter accidentally stepped on his shoe. “These are new Sperry’s.”

“Sorry.” Peter smiled sheepishly and watched his feet carefully as he took the next step. He proceeded to lose his footing and tripped, Flash cursing as he caught him from falling.

“Why the fuck does Cindy not have some kind of walkway?” Flash complained. “It’s shocking to me that no one hasn’t killed themselves yet tripping over all of this grass.”

“Maybe I’ll be the first one.” Peter giggled, imagining what the headlines would say. _Teen Trips on Grass and Dies_. Why was that so funny to him? Laughing must’ve been contagious because Flash cracked a smile and chuckled too.

“I got you like this, I feel like I should take part of the blame.” He plopped down in the grass near the sidewalk and Peter followed.

“No, it was my responsibility, not yours.” Peter hiccupped. “I decided to drink.” He patted his chest and giggled. “All me.”

“Typical, Parker.” Flash shook his head. “So fucking typical of you, even when you’re wasted to be noble.”

And that sounded strikingly like a compliment, kind of. Peter wasn’t sure because he was still feeling so beyond buzzed and Flash’s tone was annoyed, not nice. But his words were nice?

“I feel better. The air is nice.” Peter inhaled deeply. “So are you. You’re nicer tonight. You’re usually a dick.” The words out loud sounded meaner to Peter than they did in his head, but Flash didn’t look offended.

“Being drunk helps, I think.” He paused. “We’d be better friends if you fucked up more.”

“Then, we should be best friends because I fuck up a lot.” Peter thought back to all the dreams he’d had since he met Tony.

“That’s bullshit, Parker, and we both know it.”

“It’s not!” Peter laughed. “It’s not bullshit!” If only he knew. He turned to Flash, who was looking at him with a curious expression. Peter leaned on his back and spread his arms out, feeling the cool grass between his fingers. Flash surprisingly copied his movements and they both became face-to-face with the sky. “I’m not talking about school. I mean, sometimes, I fuck up there, too.” Peter sighed in frustration, his mind still an intoxicated mess. “But I’m talking about life stuff. Stuff that matters, you know?”

He was talking about Tony.

Tony mattered.

God, he was like his own element. No, that wasn’t right. He _was_ his own element. Tony Stark was an element, made out of concentrated intelligence, Tom Ford suits, mint and leather, jokes, bits of stars, and purpose. Grounded by gravity and existing within the laws of attraction.

And Peter?

Peter was a planet, hopelessly orbiting Tony like he was his to orbit.  

“Are you trying to tell me you watch weird porn? Because that doesn’t count.”

“Uh, no?” Peter looked at him and they both laughed. “I mean, honestly? Sometimes. But that’s normal, right?” Peter was an almost-seventeen-year-old teenager. Of course, he had seen weird porn. What almost-seventeen-year-old teenager hadn’t?

“Depends. What’s weird to you?”

“Flash,” Peter grinned, reveling in the warmth through his veins, “I’m not going to tell you what kind of porn I watch!”

“Then what are you talking about?”

Peter sighed, unsure if he should tell him.

“I want someone I can’t have.” Peter admitted softly, staring up at the starless black sky. “And acting on it would hurt someone I really care about.”

There was silence between them for a long moment. The only noise Peter could hear was the music from the house and the sound of a car honking from far away. Peter wished he was somewhere like Tennessee or Arizona, or maybe even Texas. Somewhere where he could look up at the sky and see a hundred stars shining back at him. He hadn’t seen stars in a long time.

“You know what I think, Parker?” Flash reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask (Peter didn’t know people still drank from flasks, but he wasn’t complaining). “I think this flask holds exactly four shots of tequila and they’re all meant to be yours.” 

Right, so Flash wasn’t decent at offering emotional support, but Peter didn’t care. For a moment, Peter wondered if that was what it was like growing up like Flash did; if when he was upset, his parents would comfort him with objects instead of actual love, sort of like Flash was doing now. And yet, the gesture was derived from good intentions, of Flash trying to be comforting and helpful in the only way he knew how and Peter appreciated it. He really did. And he prided himself on being polite, so Peter didn’t even hesitate in taking the flask and taking a long sip.  

“You think you’re better than me.” Peter said a minute later, although his tone was anything but accusatory. It wasn’t so much a question as it was an observation. Peter always thought it, they both knew that’s how Flash always felt. But they never addressed it. Why didn’t they talk about it?

“That’s because I am.” Flash replied back just as casually, though his voice lacked conviction. Peter looked down at the flask in his hands, touched the expensive leather cover and traced his finger over the delicate stitching. Peter didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. He understood Flash.

“I know.” Peter said, not because he believed it, but because Flash needed to hear it. Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew he shouldn’t have to tear himself down to make someone else feel better. But that wasn’t the point. Like the intention of the flask, it was something Peter could give to him. He hoped Flash understood.  

 

*

 

An hour later, Peter was definitely the drunkest he’d ever been. This time, there was no argument. Definitely the drunkest. He and Flash had hung out for a while, but Peter was ready to go home. He was pretty sure he didn’t decide that, though. Flash muttered something about him passing out before telling Peter to call his mom to pick him up.

The line rang twice. “Hey, Mom!” Peter hiccupped into the phone. 

“Peter?” A voice much deeper than Mary’s answered.

“Mr. Stark?” Shit, did he call the wrong number? Either way, this was a much better idea. He was ecstatic to hear Tony.  

“Yeah, kid. Your mom went to bed about an hour ago. I’m on standby. How’s the party?”  

“So, so fun!” Peter beamed, wishing he was Facetiming him so he could see his face. “I wish you were here, though.” Peter giggled. “It would be-it would be more fun if you were here.”

“You’re sweet, kid.”

“You’re sweet, adult.” Peter parroted back. Talk about medicine for his own taste. Or, what was it? Taste of his own medicine. What?

“Drink anything tonight, Peter?”

“Maybe.” Peter was pretty sure his smile was permanently attached to his face, and he was more than okay with it.

“How drunk are you?”

“I’m great.”

Peter could totally walk in a straight line. He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder and outstretched his arms before taking a few wobbly steps forward. When Peter lost his balance and swayed to the side, he huffed. Flash laughed from where he was still sitting on the grass. Whatever.

“Okay, kid, I’m picking you up.”

“You’re coming?” Peter squealed. “I can’t wait to-to see you!”

“I can’t wait to see you, too, but first you have to tell me where you are.”

Right. Duh. Peter gave him the address and Tony told him he was leaving now before hanging up.

“He’s coming?” Flash sat up.

“Yeah, he’s on the way.” Peter felt so fucking giddy.

“Okay,” Flash stood up, and brushed a few blades of grass off of his pants, “I’m going to tap out before the boyfriend gets here.”

“Boyfriend?”

“You know.” Flash gave him a pointed look. Peter blinked at him. “He’s not going to take long to get here. I’ll see you on Monday, Parker.” And then Flash stood up and Peter watched as he walked back towards the house.   

Flash was right, though. It didn’t take long for Tony to show up. Peter could tell it was Tony’s black Audi as soon as it turned down his street. He parked in front of Cindy’s house.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter tried to stand up from the grass, but his legs wobbled and he tripped. Again. Tony was by his side seconds later, helping him up.

“You are absolutely wasted.” Tony said, eyes wide.

“Whoa.” Peter started to stumble, but Tony’s hands were on his shoulders steadying him.

“Let’s get you in the car.”

Tony led him to the Audi and opened the door for him. Peter climbed in, immediately delighting in the comfort of the leather seats. Much more comfortable than grass.  Tony gave a surveying glance, probably making sure Peter’s leg wasn’t hanging out the car door, before closing it gently.

“Where’s Ned? Why was he not watching you?” Tony asked as soon as he got in the driver’s seat.

 “He had to leave early.” Which was lame. Very lame.

“Buckle up, Peter.” Tony ordered.

“Soooo bossy.” Peter slurred, fumbling with his seatbelt. “You know, that’s not fair. It’s not, Mr. Stark, because you’ve got me all buckled every time I’m here-in this-in this car with you, but you never buckle up.” A part of Peter could tell he was slurring his words, but he couldn’t seem to care. He tugged on the taut seatbelt again before groaning in frustration.

 “Struggling?” Tony teased him with a fucking smirk, not even trying to hide it. He was definitely amused and Peter was so frustrated and life wasn’t fair.

Peter sank his teeth into his bottom lip and shut his eyes.

“Please help.”

He must have looked pathetically helpless because Tony finally had mercy on him.

“Okay, sweetheart. Lean back.”

As soon as Tony angled his body towards him, Peter instinctively leaned into him.

“I love when you call me sweetheart.” 

Tony froze for a moment and Peter considered it a silent victory. He heard the sound of his seatbelt clicking into place and he held back an annoyed huff because now there was no reason for Tony to be so close to him.

“What did you drink?”

“Tequila.” Peter wondered when the last time Tony had tequila was.

They should drink tequila. Together. Off each other’s bodies.

Tony ran a hand through his hair before switching gears and pulling back on to the road. Peter wanted to touch his hair. Why didn’t he get to touch his hair?

“Have you ever been this drunk before?” Tony sounded uneasy. There was so much concern in his voice and Peter loved him for it.

“I decided that I haven’t.” Peter reached for the window opener button and clicked it down and up. He felt a little like puking, but the cool air on his face helped him forget about it. Peter turned to look at Tony and ended up staring at him.

Tony was the most attractive man Peter had ever met. From his thick, dark eyebrows above his soft, brown eyes, to the delicate cupid’s bow on his lips, all of the features on his face complimented each other so perfectly. And that was just his face. Tony’s body was definitely something to be admired. Peter’s body was so skinny and gangly. No matter how much he ate or tried to workout, Peter was incapable of gaining weight. Tony was the opposite. He was strong and built. He could probably pin Peter down and hold him in place, even against his squirming. Peter felt goosebumps cover his skin at the thought.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice grabbed his attention and Peter blinked out of his daydream. They were back home, in the parking garage.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Tony promised and went around to the other side of the car to help Peter get out. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

            When they made it to the apartment, most of the lights were off. How late was it? Peter was pretty sure his phone was dead. Tony helped lead him to his room, watching like a hawk as if Peter was going to trip any second. Tony turned on his light for him when they entered his bedroom. Peter sat at the edge of his bed and frowned when he saw Tony hovering in the doorway.

“Please sit with me.” He wasn’t ready for Tony to leave. Tony approached Peter before he sat next to him, hesitant, like he knew what Peter was thinking about.

That was the problem, though, wasn’t it?

Thinking.

Peter thought all the time. He spent days thinking and nights overthinking, but when it came down to it, sometimes all Peter really wanted was to not think at all.

Peter didn’t think when he kissed Tony.

His lips were soft and gentle, such a contrast with his coarse facial hair against Peter’s chin and cheeks. It was all over when he breathed in and that damn minty leather scent caught and drowned him. He was under Tony’s spell and he never wanted to wake up.

Peter didn’t know it could feel like this. He didn’t know whether the other people he’d kissed in his life were doing wrong or if it was just because he was finally kissing the right person.

If Peter thought he was addicted to Tony’s scent, he was wrong. He was addicted to Tony. He wanted all of him and Peter would never be sated without him. He knew that now.

“Peter.” Tony broke the kiss by pulling back. Peter instinctively chased his lips and whined when Tony gently pressed his hands against Peter’s shoulders to push him away.

No.

No. This wasn’t fair. This couldn’t end. Not when it had barely started. “Peter,” Tony repeated, voice more than slightly shaken, “look at me.”

Tony’s pupils were huge, taking up most of his soft brown irises. His lips were shiny and wet from their kiss and fuck, why did they stop? Peter wanted more. Peter wanted so much more.

“Please.” Even Peter heard how broken his voice sounded as he begged. “Please kiss me back.”

If he knew, if he could have felt just how much Peter wanted him, Tony would have let it happen. If Peter could have just made him understand, everything would’ve been perfect.

But Tony was resisting.

“I can’t.”  

“Please.” Peter nuzzled his face against Tony’s, placing his hand against the older man’s chest. Peter didn’t even know what he was asking for. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Tony to fuck him or make out with him or let Peter blow him. In a way, Peter was asking for it all. For whatever Tony was going to give. That was what he wanted.

“You’ll hate me. You’re drunk.” Tony rested his palm against his forehead in distress. “God, Peter, you are so drunk.”  

Peter sorted through his mind, trying to find the solution that would let Tony touch him. Peter couldn’t let Tony think. If Tony was going to think, this wouldn’t happen. Peter didn’t let Tony get another word in before he reached for Tony’s crotch...which was where he found a shocking discovery.

“You’re hard.” Tony wasn’t just hard. Tony was _extremely_ hard, maybe even harder than Peter was.

And holy fuck.

Tony was attracted to Peter.

This was now fucking confirmed.

“I want to touch you.” Peter continued eagerly. “I want you to show me how. I have only thought of you. I’ve touched myself to you so many times. Have had so many dreams about this.”  

Peter lightly circled his fingers over Tony’s crotch, feeling a wet spot of pre-cum through his pants. Tony tilted his head back and groaned. He felt Tony’s large hand wrap around his wrist just as Peter started palming at the bulge in his pants.

“No, kid. Stop.” Tony closed his eyes. “Sweetheart, you have to stop.” 

“I don’t want to stop.” Peter moved his hand faster, applying more pressure. “I want to see you like this. I want to be good for you.”

“Fuck.” Tony moaned, hips bucking up into his touch. Peter could have cried in relief, feeling him start to give in. He was so close to convincing him.

“Please. Let me.” Peter pleaded brokenly as he reached for the button and zipper. Tony stopped him abruptly just as he unbuttoned the pants by tightening the grip on his wrist and pushing him until he was lying on his back against the bed.  

“Don’t you want me?”

“Baby, you know I do.” Peter fucking preened at the nickname. Tony started petting his hair, staring down at Peter in awe. “How could I not want you?” After a serene moment, Tony took his hand away and the world was cold again. “But not like this.”  

“I want you when I’m sober, too, so why is this any different?”

“Because you aren’t sober.” Tony let go of his wrist. “You wouldn’t be talking like this if you were.”

“I’d be thinking it, though.” Peter retorted. “And wanting it.”

“But you wouldn’t be doing it. I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

“But I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

“I know. Because you are a good boy.” Tony watched him as Peter felt the warmth of the praise flood his body. “You like that, don’t you?” Tony pressed, eyes dark and intrigued. “You like when I say you’re my good boy?”

Peter let out a strangled moan that got caught in his throat. “Yes.”

“Well, you are, baby. You are so good.”

Peter couldn’t fucking do it.

“Please, can I touch myself?” He begged. Tony looked like he was actually considering it, which spurred Peter on further. “Please, you don’t even have to touch me. You don’t have to feel bad because you’re not doing anything. It’s just me. Please, please let me touch myself.” 

Many would argue that Peter didn’t need someone else’s approval to masturbate, especially not in his own bedroom. Peter understood that opinion. He wanted it so badly that his hand was shaking with desire. But that didn’t matter because he didn’t agree. He couldn’t because it really wasn’t Peter’s decision; it was Tony’s. Not without Tony’s permission. And if Tony wouldn’t give it to him, well, Peter had to find a way to deal with it. Because without Tony’s permission, it wouldn’t have been worth it then. Peter wouldn’t have been a good boy. Hell, if he was touching himself knowing Tony didn’t approve, Peter wasn’t sure he’d even be able to cum. If he didn’t earn it, well, then what was the point?  

“Not while I’m here with you.” Tony said after an eternity. “I can leave, Peter.” He offered, although it looked like the exact opposite thing he wanted to do.

So, it was between Peter getting off but making Tony leave and Tony staying but Peter staying hard. Well, when it was put like that, there wasn’t a competition.

“No!”

The idea of Tony leaving was the worst possible outcome, no matter if Peter got to cum or not. After all, getting himself off never going to be his top priority. The endgame was pleasing Tony in whatever way he wanted. That was what Peter really cared about, and if he had to have throbbing, painful blue balls to do it, then he would just have to live with it.

“Please. Stay.”  

 When Tony gave him a proud smile, Peter knew he made the right decision, even as his cock throbbed in his pants.

“Okay, Peter. This won’t be easy, but you are going to have to forget about how hard you are.” Tony instructed. Peter nodded along as he spoke. “I’m going to take care of you. Will always take care of you. Just not in the way we want. Not tonight.” Tony glanced at the sheets. “Get under the covers, Peter…Good. I want you to lay on your side. No sleeping on your back.”

“Okay.” Peter responded obediently, turning on his side. Tony pulled the blanket up to his chest, mildly tucking him in.  

“Good boy.” Tony didn’t take his eyes off of him. “You are so good for me. Doing everything I say right when I say it. If I tell you to look at me, your eyes are on me before I can finish the sentence. Walking around, looking like fucking Bambi with those big eyes. Being so sweet and smart and thoughtful.” Tony reached his hand out gently to Peter’s face and Peter nuzzled into it without thinking. He was practically purring. Peter felt so warm, like it was a cold night and each approving word from Tony were licks of flames heating up every inch of his skin. “Not touching yourself because you don’t want me to leave.” Tony shook his head in disbelief. “You are so good, baby, and you don’t even know.”

Peter’s cheeks were on fire. Probably his whole body at this point, from his head to his toes, loving every bit of attention and praise that Tony was giving him. Peter had never felt so special. He was a good boy.

“Close your eyes.” Tony whispered.

“Please don’t leave.” Peter pleaded, eyes shut.

“I’m going to stay here with you until you fall asleep.” Tony’s voice was enough to lull Peter into his spell, and the touch of his fingers slowly trickling down his face didn’t hurt either.

“Baby, tell me who got you like this.” Tony ordered delicately. “I know drinking so much tonight wasn’t your idea.”

“Flash.” Peter answered softly, nuzzling deeper into his pillow. When Tony’s movements stilled, Peter reached out his arm blindly until he was touching Tony’s forearm. “I know you don’t like him, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

“He was trying to get you drunk? Was it just you?” This time, Peter’s words of assurance didn’t seem to be doing much for Tony.

“Mr. Stark-”

“Peter.” Tony’s tone was laced with impatience. Peter was still high off of Tony’s tranquilizing words and soft touches. Too high to not answer Tony’s questions.

“Yes.” Peter gave in. “It was just me.”

“Did he try to touch you?”

“No, I promise. I wouldn’t have wanted him to, anyway.” Flash would never have come onto Peter, anyway.

Tony resumed petting his hair. Peter relaxed into his touch immediately, sighing.

“Why is that?”

“Because I only want you.” Duh.

As soon as he said it, Tony’s fingers curled into a fist around Peter’s hair. Hard. Peter let out a moan and heard Tony mumbling curse words to himself.

“You only want me?”

“Of course, I do.” Was it not obvious?

He heard Tony taking a deep breath before relaxing his fingers and going back to stroking Peter’s hair. Peter fell asleep with Tony’s fingers in his hair and his voice in his ear, whispering about how good he was for him and to give in to the pull of sleep. It was so perfect that Peter wasn’t sure it even happened at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mwahahaha
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>  
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> honestly, though, i hope you enjoyed! Please leave me a comment telling me what you think! I fucking LIVE for your comments you don't even understand
> 
>  
> 
> tumblr-richieloveseds


	8. Peter is the Antichrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so so so sorry for the extra wait. I struggled trying to decide which direction I wanted this chapter to go in, but after a lot of thinking, I decided this was the best way to go. Hope you enjoy. Also, all of your comments on the last chapter melted my heart, so thank you to anyone who left one <3

Peter woke up.

That was his first mistake.

Remembering what happened last night was his second.

_Please kiss me back._

No. No. no, no no, no.

“Oh my God.” Peter covered his face with his hands. That didn’t actually happen. That _couldn’t_ have actually happened.  Last night-it had to be another dream. Peter had so many dreams about Tony all the time. He blacked out, took an Uber home from the party, and fell asleep in his bed. Peter wanted to believe that was what happened. He tried so hard in his head.

But he knew.  

An ocean of tequila couldn’t make Peter forget the feeling of Tony’s lips.

Peter could hear his own heart pounding through his chest. Was he having a panic attack?

This felt like a panic attack. It was then that he noticed his head throbbing violently against itself, like someone was playing pinball inside his skull and beating a new record.

Fuck fuck fuck goddamn shit fuck.

With a shaky hand, he moved the covers off of his legs and sat up, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. His stomach lurched as he moved, making Peter aware of the nausea sweeping over him. Without thinking, he rushed to the bathroom and barely had time to pull up the seat before vomiting in the toilet.

Peter was never going to drink again.

_I want you when I’m sober, too._

What the fuck was he thinking? Why did he drink so much? What was Peter Parker’s life?

He tried to be as quiet as possible vomiting (because really, how embarrassing would be it if Tony heard him from the living room), but that wasn’t exactly a skill.

_Please. I’ve wanted this for so long._

He actually came on to Tony Stark.

He came on to his mom’s boyfriend.

PETER BENJAMIN PARKER CAME ON TO HIS MOM’S BOYFRIEND.

What was _wrong_ with him?

It was one thing to have a crush. That could easily be construed as innocent. He couldn’t help who he was attracted to. But to act on it? To try to seduce Tony? It was so fucking _pathetic_.

Peter was officially a bad person. Now, he qualified, right? This had to have like, opened the gates to hell. Peter was going to hell. His soul was doomed-or, was it doomed? No, that wasn’t the right word; it was damned.

Peter’s soul was damned.

He could be on Dr. Phil. The audience would probably “boo” him and he wouldn’t even blame them because Peter Parker was officially the bad guy.

“Honey?” Mary called from outside the bathroom door, nearly making Peter shit his pants in surprise. He didn’t think she’d be home.

“One second!” Peter flushed the toilet, resisting the urge to throw up again. “Come in.”

Peter heard the door open and was immediately struck with the surprise of seeing Mary not in her nurse attire. She usually had early shifts on Sundays. Mary shut the door behind her and put a comforting hand on Peter’s back.  

“Oh, honey. Are you alright?” Mary asked and she sounded so concerned and wow, Peter was a terrible human being. He wanted her to stab him or steal the three hundred dollars he kept hidden in his underwear drawer. Peter wanted her to do something terrible to him because then maybe they would be even.

“I’m just feeling nauseous. I’m okay.” He assured her, eyes flitting to the door nervously as if Tony was going to walk in any second. “Is Mr. Stark in the living room?”

“No, he left earlier this morning.”

“He did?” Peter observed her expression carefully, trying to catch signs of distress, but Mary appeared oblivious. Tony must have not said anything to her.

“He had something to do for work.” Mary explained. “I wish I could be here to take care of you, but I have an appointment to get fitted for my dress in twenty minutes.”

Oh, right. Carol’s wedding. That was coming up, wasn’t it? Peter felt too sick to check his mental calendar.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t. He was going to die. “I think I’m just going to go back to bed.”

“Are you sure? I could reschedule.”  

Oh, yeah, that’d be _great_. Not only would Peter come on to his mom’s boyfriend, he was also going to make her miss her dress appointment. He was really in the running for the greatest-son-of-the-year award.

“No, I’m okay.” Peter offered a tight-lipped smile. He was pretty sure there was a chunk of vomit on his chin, which-gross. The thought of that made him want to throw up again.  

“Okay, then.” Mary rubbed his back before opening the door. “I’ll see you later, honey. Feel better.”

The door closed and Peter was left staring at the toilet bowl.

_I’ve touched myself to you so many times._

Peter felt the bile rise in his throat and proceeded to vomit again.

So much tequila. Peter was never going to drink tequila again.

When he was finally done, he flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Peter was drying his hands with a towel when he faced his reflection in the mirror. God.

He looked like shit, which was better than he deserved.

His face was even paler than its usual ghostly tone, his eyes were glossy, and his hair was _everywhere_. Was that from Tony petting him? Peter dismissed the thought and reached for his toothbrush. After brushing his teeth and scrubbing his tongue, Peter went back to his room and fell onto his bed.

He could’ve blamed Flash for shoving drinks in his hands all night, sure. Or, better yet, he could have blamed Ned for ditching him at a party he didn’t want to be at in the first place, which then led to drinking with Flash, but he couldn’t really do that. Responsibility was a big thing with Peter. He fucked up. It was his choice to drink. He could have left the party early, but he didn’t because he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay. He wanted to drink. He wanted to kiss Tony. He wanted to do more.

_I want to see you like this. I want to be good for you._

Okay, Peter was going to lose his mind. He couldn’t be left alone with his thoughts. Not today. He picked up his phone and dialed Ned’s number.

“I need you to come over right now.” He said as soon as Ned picked up.

“Peter, is everything okay?”

“No.” Peter admitted after a pause. He was caught off guard by how good it felt not to lie. Why didn’t he do this earlier? “I need you to come over.” He repeated, hearing the urgency in his voice.

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”

  

*

 

“Why is it so dark in here?” Ned cursed, tripping over Peter’s balled up sweatshirt that was discarded on the floor.

“Leave the lights off.” Peter replied sullenly, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t deserve light.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ned sit down at the desk chair.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Peter winced when Ned clicked on the lamp. “Wow. You look worse than when _Teen Titans Go!_ aired for the first time.”

“Don’t even talk about that show.” That wound was still pretty fresh. Peter felt himself getting fired up just thinking about it. “The original _Teen Titans_ was literal art and they destroyed everything it stood for by dumbing it down into trash. It’s deplorable, Ned, really, it is.”

“I guess I was more of a _Ben 10_ kind of guy, myself.” Ned deadpanned, only smiling when Peter turned his face to glare at him. “So, what’s wrong?”

“I’m the antichrist.”

“Peter, last week you were late to class because you were saving a bee that was trapped in the bathroom.”

“That doesn’t matter.” If Peter saved 10,000 bees, it wouldn’t redeem him for what he did. “Look, Ned, I can’t joke about this.” Peter sat up, folding his knees and tucking them against his chest. “I’m sure you know what this is about.” He looked at the edge of the bed where Tony had sat last night when Peter kissed him and sighed.

“Something happened last night, didn’t it?” Ned must have realized the severity of the situation because his tone became serious. And of course, Ned could tell. He was Peter’s best friend, after all. He knew about Peter’s crush probably before Peter did.

“Yeah. I did something terrible, Ned.” Peter admitted, playing with his own fingers absentmindedly. Okay, no more lying to Ned about his feelings for Tony. Peter was going to come clean. Obviously, his actions were unjustifiable, but still…maybe Ned could understand.

“Peter, tell me you didn’t.”

“I did.” Peter ducked his head, ashamed.

“You hooked up with Flash?”

“What? No!” Was that seriously what Ned thought happened last night? “Where did you even-why did you think that happened?”

“I don’t know!” Ned shot back defensively. “I just assumed! You guys were with each other all night and I don’t really get what’s going on there! One second, it seems like he has a thing for you, and the next, it’s like he doesn’t even know who you are. How am I supposed to keep up?”

“God, dude, no!” Peter groaned, exasperated. There was no easy way to put it. “Ned, I like Tony.”

“Oh.” Silence filled the room for one long moment before Ned broke it. “Well, at least you’re finally admitting it.”

“It’s more than that.” Okay. He could do this. “After you left the party, I hung out with Flash and got shitfaced, even more than I was. Tony ended up picking me up at the end of the night. When we got home, I basically told him how much I like him and…” Peter’s voice cracked. Ned nodded patiently. He took a breath before continuing. “I made a move on him. Several, really. I kissed him and I-I tried to do more, but he stopped me.” Just saying it out loud made Peter want to crawl under a rock and die.

“How did he react?”

“What?” Peter was so caught off guard by Ned’s question that he wasn’t sure he heard it right.

“Like, what did he say when he rejected you?”

For a brief moment, Peter was clueless, clouded by his own shameful thoughts.

And then he remembered.

Peter remembered everything.

 

_You’ll hate me. You’re drunk._

Tony’s dilated pupils, his shiny wet lips.

_Sweetheart, you have to stop._

Peter’s hand rubbing against the outline of Tony’s erection through his pants. Tony was hard. Tony was harder than Peter was.

_How could I not want you?_

Peter fucking begging for it. For him.

_I can’t take advantage of you like this._

Peter could hear his own whimpers. His pleadings to get off.

_Will always take care of you. Just not in the way we want. Not tonight._

Tony’s fingers in his hair, petting, pulling. Peter closing his eyes. Not seeing anymore, just feeling, but that being enough all the same.

_You are so good, baby, and you don’t even know._

 

Peter was so focused on how fucked up his actions were that he missed something so, so vital.

Tony wanted him, too.

Tony was into it. Did Peter black that out and just now remember or did he repress it because of how shocking it was? Either way, Peter was wide awake now.

“Ned, he was hard. He rejected me, but he was _hard_.”

 “Yeah, I believe that.”

“You do?” Fuck, Peter still didn’t believe it.

“Considering the way that he looks at you, I don’t know, Peter, it’s not that far-fetched.” Ned explained, scratching his arm. He was speaking so casually that Peter wasn’t entirely sure he was just joking.

“The way he looks at me?” What way? Tony looked at him a certain way? Why didn’t Ned mention this before?

“Like in Decathlon. Every time I look at him, he’s staring at you.” Ned insisted, and wow, he was not kidding. “And I don’t even mean like a sexual, hungry stare.” Ned added thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s like he’s just…watching you, or something.” 

“He’s with my mom!”

“But he spends more time with you than her.” Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t know whether to be upset or grateful that Ned was actually supporting the notion of he and Tony together.

“How are you even trying to justify this? How are you not grossed out by me?” Peter was grossed out by himself.

“I just think we should look at the facts, here. How long do Mary’s relationships usually last?” Ned counted on his fingers. “One, two, three, maybe four months long? Definitely not over a year.”

“Hey, that’s her right.” Peter frowned.

“Peter, I don’t care how long her relationships last. I’m just saying she and Tony are probably going to break up soon, anyway. Peter, I know you, and I know you’re going to be beating yourself up for this and you probably won’t be able to think about anything else for a while, but I’m going to be honest and tell you what I think, personally. You are not the devil. You have never done anything remotely bad in your life. Don’t fight me on that; you know it’s true.”

“Fine.” Peter gave in.

“Secondly, I have never seen you so interested in anyone-ever. The last time you experienced anything slightly comparable to this was in eighth grade when you had a crush on Sam Marx. Ever since you met Tony, you have been so much happier. I can see it in your face.”

“There is the fact that I’m underage.”

“You’re turning seventeen in two weeks.”

“Still underage.” Peter pointed out. Nothing was going to change that but time.

“What, the day you turn eighteen, you’re magically going to become some completely different person who can suddenly decide you want what you wanted the day before? Peter, I don’t know. That just doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe my brain is too underdeveloped to get it, but I don’t think you are going to change that much between today and a year from today.” Ned shrugged. “I know that logic doesn’t apply to a lot of people, but really, I think it depends on the person. Peter, you aren’t most teenagers. I’ve been saying that you’re mentally a forty-year-old forever. You have always known what you want. And right now, what you want is right in front of you, and whether it wants to admit it or not, wants you, too. That’s not nothing.”

“Ned, that’s not the point. The point is this was wrong. This was wrong and it’s my fault!” Peter practically screamed the last sentence and ended up in a coughing fit. Before he could register what was happening, Ned pushed a glass of water in his hands.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.” Ned said as Peter started downing it, reveling in how much it made his throat feeling better. “Thank whoever left it on your bedside table.” Peter also realized, in that moment, that the water was lukewarm, which meant Tony left it for him last night, not Mary. It had to have been after Peter fell asleep.

“Are you going to take those?” Ned asked, and Peter swallowed another gulp of water before answering him.

“Take what?” He wiped droplets off his chin with the back of his hand.

“I think they are ibuprofen?” Ned handed him two small pills. “They were sitting next to the water. They’ll probably make you feel better.”

Peter didn’t even think about getting something to take on his headache, but Tony did. Automatically, Peter took the pills without even glancing at them. They could have been cyanide and Peter could be dead in seconds, but he trusted Tony undoubtedly.

 _Will always take care of you._ He felt goosebumps break across his skin.

“Ned,” he reached out, placing his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

 

*

 

Peter wasn’t even surprised about his grade when he got his test back. Although an 82 was technically a B, it was nowhere near the grade Peter would have received if he had studied. He wanted to be at least a little upset with himself so he could push to work harder on the next one, but the truth was Peter didn’t care. Maybe he was burnt out for the semester.

Mr. White then announced to work in pairs for corrections. Like clockwork whenever the class got handed back hefty assignments, Flash was at his side immediately.   

“Parker, how’d you do?”

With his pencil, Peter pushed it across the desk towards Flash, who briskly seized the test like it was an acceptance letter from Harvard. Peter observed Flash idly as he squinted at the circled grade at the top of the page like he wasn’t reading it correctly, even going the lengths to move it closer to his face.

“What the hell, Parker?” Flash regarded him with narrowed eyes, as if he believed Peter was possessed. Peter shrugged indifferently as Flash flipped through the test.

 “How did you not know what the valley of ashes was?”

Peter assumed he would be happy, but Flash just looked disappointed. 

“I don’t know.” He offered lamely, grazing the pencil’s pink eraser against his bottom lip. “I guess I wasn’t-”

“-Or the green light!” Flash cut him off, shock etched on his face. “That is literally in the plot. You don’t even have to search to find it. It’s in plain sight! At the beginning _and_ at the end! You would have gotten some credit if you just wrote ‘Daisy’, but you didn’t even do that. You put a slash through it.” Flash shoved the test in his face. “A slash, Parker? Really?”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention. What did you get?”

“A 97.” Flash may as well have gotten an F with how unenthusiastic his tone was.  

Was this what he and Flash were? Workout buddies, but for academics? Two people who pushed each other to improve and got mad when the other slacked off? If that was what this was, Peter had really been reading the terrain wrong.

Peter was about to say something, maybe apologize, when Ned returned from the bathroom. When he sat down, Flash threw the test on his desk.

“Deal with your friend, Ned because he is losing his mind.” He snapped before stalking off.

“What was that about? I thought you guys were friends now.” 

“It’s complicated.” Peter watched Flash as he slouched in his desk, concentrated on his own test. Flash caught his stare and raised his middle finger at him. “I think it changes from day to day.”  

 “I can’t say Flash is completely wrong.” Ned said delicately. “You have been off all week.”

“Yeah, well, you know why.” Peter whispered, taking a quick survey around the class to make sure no one was paying attention to them. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I have no idea what’s going through his head.”

“Have there been any updates? Has Mary mentioned anything?”

“No, she’s too busy with her friend’s wedding. She’s been running around the past few days, getting prepared for it, so I’m not sure even if things weren’t weird, that Tony would be over.”

“So, with Mary gone, you’ve just been…”

“Thinking.”

“Brooding.” Ned corrected. “Worrying.”

“Same thing, I guess.” Peter rested his chin into his hand. The hints of class ending soon became evident through the sounds of binders closing, backpacks zipping up, and an overall louder chatter amongst his classmates. _I’m going to stay here with you until you fall asleep._ Peter sighed to himself, feeling the ghost of Tony’s fingers in his hair. He may as well have been a puppy waiting for his owner to come home. How pathetic.

“Hey, I have an idea.” Ned nudged him. “Decathlon is canceled today. What if, after school, we go see a movie or something? Four days brooding is long enough.”

Peter knew he should probably be taking that time to study, but if he was being honest with himself, there was no chance he would be able to focus.

Ned was right. It was better than staying in his room, thinking. He did enough of that.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”  

“Cool. I think they’re playing Jumanji this week. The one with Robin Williams.”

“So, the good one.” Peter felt himself smile, probably for the first time all week.  

When the bell rang, Ned and Peter made their way outside onto the sidewalk.

“Fuck, it’s freezing!” Peter stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He should have worn his coat. Peter always underestimated the weather.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to snow sometime…” Ned had completely dived into a full-blown conversation about the weather, and Peter tried to listen, but his mind kept drifting back to Tony.  What was he doing right now, anyway? Was he stuck at the museum?

Peter glanced to the parking lot unconsciously while they were walking, out of habit more than anything else, and-oh, shit. The familiar Audi was parked in its usual spot. It couldn’t be Tony’s car. But it was. Peter was sure it was. They were too far away for Peter to see in the driver’s seat, the windows too tinted, and maybe he was just paranoid, but Peter felt Tony’s eyes on him.

“Dude,” Peter stopped in his tracks, turning in front of Ned, so his back was facing the car. “He’s here.”

“Tony?” Ned’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “He’s picking you up? Did your mom text you?”

Peter had his phone on him all day. All week, really, if he was being honest. Since he knew Tony had his number, he thought maybe there was a chance he would text him, maybe say something, especially since after The Tequila Induced Incident (TTII, for short), but nada. The most notifications his phone got were warnings to manage his storage (which, let’s be honest-Peter ignored).

“No. Neither of them have.”

“Well, are you going to go with him?”

His instinctive answer was yes, of course, he’d go anywhere Tony wanted him. If Tony was waiting for him, then he should get going right away; was already rude for keeping him waiting.

“You should.” Ned encouraged, practically reading Peter’s mind. “Call me tonight and let me know what happens.” He gave Peter a gentle push before wishing him luck and heading off.   

So, it was decided. (Like it was even an option for Peter to just ignore Tony’s car sitting there. Really, who was he kidding?)

The walk to Tony’s car was the longest thirty seconds of Peter’s life. His mind was in overdrive, spinning out potential scenarios of what could happen when Peter would get in the car. What if Tony threatened him to never mention it to Mary? What if he was super awkward and told Peter after today, he wasn’t going to pick him up from school ever again or come to any more of his Decathlon practices? What if he broke up with Mary and was picking Peter up to flee to another country together? Okay, so Peter had been stuck in his own head for way too long. Although he was beyond anxious for this encounter, there was also a large part of him that, frankly, was just excited to see Tony. It had been four excruciating days, and, well, Peter missed him.

What he didn’t expect was Tony wearing sunglasses. That was the first thing Peter noticed when he got in the car. These sunglasses weren’t the artsy rose-tinted ones Peter was fond of, either; these were different. These were pitch black aviators. Maybe Peter was just paranoid, but he couldn’t help wondering whether Tony put them on intentionally so Peter couldn’t see his eyes. It was actually the worst possible thing that could have happened because Peter relied on Tony’s eyes for his hidden expressions. How was he supposed to get an idea of what Tony was thinking without being able to see them? 

“Hey, Peter.” Tony greeted. At first glance, everything about him seemed normal.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter cringed as he heard his voice squeak. He put his seatbelt on quickly, so Tony didn’t have to say anything.

“How was your day at school?” Tony asked, putting the car into drive, and pulling out of the lot. So, they were starting with this small-talk thing. Okay, Peter could keep up.

“Pretty good.” If they were normal circumstances, Peter might have even been able to expand on that, maybe mention a specific detail from the day, but these weren’t normal circumstances, and, well, the air was tense. “How about you?” The forced cordiality wasn’t helping the discomfort.

“Pretty good, too.” Tony usually looked at Peter a good amount when they were talking, even when driving, but today, he faced straight ahead at the road. It was unfortunate for obvious reasons, one being that Tony was clearly at least a little awkward, but, on the other hand, it meant Peter could stare at him discreetly.

Actually, the longer he looked at him, Peter realized there were a few things that were _off_ about Tony’s appearance. Little details that a normal person would be likely to miss entirely, especially if they weren’t squinting. Of course, when it came to Tony, Peter was not a normal person, so he caught everything out of place immediately. He noticed there were a few visible wrinkles in Tony’s shirt, which was unusual for him. His hair was a bit messier than his typical clean, tousled style. His posture was tight; not relaxed like it always was. That was probably the biggest difference. He was off, that much was obvious, and Peter understood why, and he knew it was inevitable, but still, he didn’t like it.

“I was thinking you could start your internship today,” Tony offered, actually turning to face Peter to say it, which freaked him out because Tony was able to read everything in Peter’s eyes, but Peter couldn’t do the same with those damn sunglasses on. It wasn’t fair. Obviously, Tony’s voice was leveled and controlled as always (well, _almost_ always), so Peter had absolutely nothing to go off on besides basic awkwardness. “If you’re sure you still want to do it.” Tony added, and okay, at least that was something. Hesitation, which Peter didn’t like, because, as odd as things had become, the internship was huge and Peter wasn’t going to let Tony think he was just going to-what? Pass it up?

“No, I mean, yes!”  Peter could tell his rambling was going to happen as soon as he opened his mouth.

Which was just great.

“Of course, I still want to.” Peter spewed out like lava coming out of a volcano. Unstoppable and destructive. “I mean, it’d be great to be your intern. I’d love to work under you.” Jesus. “I mean-as an understudy in the job! Not that it’s a job!” He added hastily. “I mean, I don’t care what it is. Of course, I _care_ , but I’m just happy to get experience from you.”  SEXUAL, PETER, THAT WAS SEXUAL. “In the job!” Fuck! “Internship.” He corrected before shutting his mouth like he should have done three words in.  Why was he like this? If it was possible to die from embarrassment, Peter would be more than dead. Peter would be extinct. A fossil, perhaps.

“I’m glad you still want to.” Peter braced himself, waiting for Tony to expand on it, but he didn’t say anything more. The awkward tension between them was at an all-time high, and Peter could only blame himself.  

Peter thought he had his share of elephants in the room. Like the time his uncle Max, at Thanksgiving dinner, drunkenly confessed he was a furry. When Max failed to show at the next family gathering, all of his relatives acted like they truly believed it was because he was sick. Peter was so naïve in thinking that would be the worst one. _This_ was the biggest elephant he had seen in his almost-seventeen-years of existence. He knew they wouldn’t avoid each other forever. Peter didn’t want that.

But was Tony going to say something? Peter’s instincts told him to let Tony take the lead, but if the lead involved dodging the subject entirely and pretending it never happened, Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The longer the silence droned on, the more Peter questioned himself. Did he hallucinate the other night? Was that possible? Admittedly, Peter Parker was a lot of things, but crazy? Peter wasn’t crazy. He was creative, sure, but even his deepest imagination couldn’t make up that night, and certainly not in such vivid detail.

What made it worse was knowing it was his fault. Peter caused this weird atmosphere, and it just had to happen right when he actually started feeling comfortable speaking in full sentences around the man. The guilt pulled at him until Peter couldn’t stay quiet.

“Mr. Stark, about the other night. I just want to apologize for-”

“-There’s nothing to apologize for.” Tony interrupted him, words firm and stressing. “Really. I don’t want you to worry about it, kid.”

There was that word.

 _Kid_.

The word that served to remind them just how young Peter was, how inappropriate this whole situation was. Peter wanted to say more, but he bit his tongue and nodded. His hopes shouldn’t have been up in the first place. He never knew what to expect from Tony, but a part of him wished for something else, a different reaction. No. He knew how wrong it was, had been emphasizing it to himself all week, so this was a good thing. If Tony wanted to forget, Peter understood. He just never considered how emotions would come to play in the equation. For the past few days, Peter only saw the situation in black and white. This was right, that was wrong, that sort of thing. Now that they were here, it was…well, it was worse than Peter imagined it would be.

And it made everything gray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, Peter's sad now, but it won't last forever. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you think below <3
> 
>  
> 
> I'm also trying to make these chapters longer, between 4k and 5k. Would you guys rather get guaranteed 3k chapters weekly or 5k chapters every 9-10 days? Please let me know in the comments!
> 
> Tumblr - richieloveseds


	9. Mary Goes Out of Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary goes out of town for the weekend, leaving Tony and Peter together. Peter gets an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BAAAAAAAACK!!!!!
> 
> I am so sorry that it has taken me sooooooooooo long to update this chapter! I missed it so much I just had no idea where the fuck was the best direction to go and I was writing and rewriting and it was just a lot. 
> 
> But four days ago, I just got this flow and it hit me out of nowhere and I could not stop writing. Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> I just checked the kudos count - 1063? 200 bookmarks. 16398 hits...Wow. I don't even know what to say. I am shocked and so ecstatic that you guys like my story. Thank you for reading and commenting and bookmarking and hitting that kudos button. It means so, so much to me. 
> 
>  
> 
> Well, you've waited long enough. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Peter understood why things were weird. Really, he did. When Tony reached to put his hand on Peter’s shoulder to guide him through the museum hallways, he ended up jerking his hand back like he had been electrocuted. That hurt Peter, arguably more than it should have, but he understood why he did it.

That didn’t stop Peter from hating it.

Peter was an expert at paying attention to everything that came out of Tony’s mouth, always leaning in, ears perked, and attentive. He could probably get a Ph.D. in it; he was _that_ good. But Peter found, as Tony was explaining how the software on the computer worked, he wasn’t able to focus on the words he was saying at all.

Tony was attracted to Peter.

That was so crazy. Mind-blowing, even.

“Peter.” Tony said in a somewhat reproachful tone. It wasn’t even harsh, but that didn’t stop Peter from ducking his head down, sensing Tony about to scold him for not paying attention. 

“I’m sorry.” It took him a moment to regain himself, chewing on his bottom lip nervously, before he peered up at Tony.

“No, it’s-” Tony’s face cracked instantly, regret settling in. “It’s okay.” He said in a significantly softer voice.

The silence seeped back. Peter didn’t know what to say. 

Was Tony going to bring it up again or was that short dismissal in the car the extent of the conversation they were going to have about what happened the other night?

The sound of the door opening caught both of their attention. A slim man in a blue sweater entered and Tony stood up to greet him.

“Rhodey!” Tony chuckled and clapped a hand on his back. 

“Tony, hey!” The man matched his cheery expression before his gaze drifted to Peter. “Are you Peter?” He knew who he was? Tony talked about him? That shouldn’t have been such a big deal, it would make sense that Tony would mention his new intern, but holy fuck, it did things to Peter’s heart.

“Of course, yes.” Tony glanced between the two of them. “Peter Parker, meet James Rhodes. Rhodey, this is Peter.”

“Nice to meet you.” Peter smiled back amicably returning his handshake. It felt more like he was meeting Tony’s friend than coworker-or employee? He wasn’t sure what the work relationship was exactly.

“Rhodey is the museum’s curator.” Tony said and yep, Peter was going to Google what the hell that meant later. “You will be seeing a lot of each other. When I am too busy, he’s going to be showing you the ropes.”

            They stayed for a half hour longer, which mainly consisted of chatting with James and discussing projects.  

“So, our next exhibit is going to be revolve around social science.” Tony explained. “We’ve spent months networking to borrow a few pieces from a Freud museum in Austria for this exhibit. Rhodey will be traveling there in a couple of weeks to meet with the director, and if everything goes as planned, they will be shipped safely by December and we can open it to the public early-to-mid January. Hopefully, we will have everything else ready by then. The other pieces won’t be nearly as hard to attain.”

On the way home, Peter thanked him. Of course, Tony told him not to worry about it and that it wasn’t a big deal. Peter decided it was, so he thanked him again and got out of the car.   

 

*

 

Mary left the next day. Peter was so absorbed with his own thoughts that he completely forgot she was going to her friend’s wedding (which, of course, only made him feel guiltier).

“Okay, there’s forty dollars on the fridge magnet for food.” Mary said as she strolled her suitcase to the door, boots clicking on the floor. “Tony will be here in half an hour. I’ll be back late Sunday night. Could you grab my coat from that closet, honey?”

“Sure, which color?” 

Peter set down his glass of water on the counter and turned to the closet.

“The brown wool one.” Mary wrapped her scarf around her neck and took the jacket from Peter. “Thanks, sweet.”

“Do you need help getting your stuff to the cab?” Peter offered as Mary rifled through her purse.

“I should be okay. It’s just one bag, after all. You’ll call me if you need anything?” 

Peter nodded, but Mary didn’t seem to notice. She turned her head frantically around. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“You _always_ feel like you’re forgetting something.”

Mary wrapped her arms around him in an embrace.

“That’s what I forgot. I have to catch my flight, but have a good weekend. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Peter said, hugging her back. He let go and walked her to the door. When she left, Peter fell onto his back on the living room floor and sighed.

Tony was coming over.

What the fuck was he going to do?  

 

*

 

“Why don’t we go to the grocery store and we can make something tonight?”

“Groceries?” Peter tilted his head slightly.

Tony bought groceries? He was human? Fascinating.   

“Yeah, but go put on a jacket first.” Tony suggested (ordered). “It’s freezing.”

Peter obeyed, and once he had on the hoodie, they left.

            As soon as they walked through the automatic doors to the grocery store, Tony picked up a basket and took off in the direction of the produce. Peter quickly trailed behind him, following like a puppy. Tony spared a glance over his shoulder, like he was checking if Peter was still behind him.

“You walk lightly.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, wasn’t sure if he meant it the way he took it, so he just made a weird sound in agreement then spent the next two minutes wondering why the fuck his throat sounded so inhuman and if Tony was thinking about it too and silently judging him.

 _Chill, Parker._ Speaking of chill, it was really fucking freezing in the grocery store. Peter put his hood up and stuffed his icy hands in his pockets.

“Cold?” Tony smirked as he took a produce bag. Peter huffed in response, which only made him laugh.

Tony knew the best kinds of tomatoes to buy. He picked them up and inspected them and everything.

“Pasta sound good? Tomato basil sauce?”

He sounded so fucking sure of himself that he may as well have been Gordon Ramsey. Peter was half-way convinced and he hadn’t even seen him behind a stove yet. Really, though, Peter could not help his fascination. He was engrossed with seeing Tony so domestic. The image of Tony standing in a fluorescent-lit aisle deciding between rigatoni and penne was never something Peter knew he needed until now. Damn, had he been missing out.

            When they got home, Peter dug out two aprons from the back of the closet and presented them to Tony winningly.

“Are those pterodactyls?” Tony took the apron and held it close to his face for inspection.

“Indeed, they are.” Light blue pterodactyls if they were being exact.

Tony threw his head back and laughed. “Why on earth do you have an apron with pterodactyls on it?”

“Hey,” Peter started, offended, “it’s fun.” He lifted the other one so Tony could see it. “This one has stars on it. So, which one do you want?”

“You want me to wear this?” Tony asked him, shock evident on his face.

“Well, you can pick which one.”

“You’re serious.”

“This is a big deal.” Peter emphasized. “I never cook.”

Without another word (just a fond roll of his eyes), Tony took the pterodactyl apron and shrugged it over his head. Peter, beaming like a fucking flower, put on the other one.

Tony then instructed him to fill a pot with water as Tony chopped tomatoes and did something with garlic on a cutting board. Fifteen minutes later, Tony was combining everything in a saucepan.

“You’re _making_ the tomato sauce?” Peter asked in disbelief.  Tony faced him in equal shock.

“You think I’m going to heat up Prego for you?”

 _For you._ Peter hid his giggle of giddiness behind his fist. He tried to play it off as a cough, but Tony’s amused side-eyed glance didn’t seem convinced.

“I’m more of a Ragu person at heart.” Peter teased.

Tony wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disgust. _So_ dramatic. Peter sort of loved it.

“Don’t worry, we can change that.” Tony stirred the sauce. “Can you grab two plates? I think this is done.”

 

They ate dinner in their aprons. Tony must have forgotten he was wearing it and Peter certainly wasn’t going to remind him.

“Better than Prego?”

“Definitely better than Prego.”

“What about Ragu?”

“That’s tough.” Peter waited until Tony smiled to continue. “Really, though, I love it. Thank you.”

“You did half the work.”

“I put pasta in a pot of boiling water.”

“That’s half.” Tony insisted. Peter didn’t blame him for being weary about him using a knife. With his lack of cooking experience, Peter could do some serious damage.

“What kind of wine is that?”

“Chianti.”

“You know a lot of kinds of wine.” Peter said thoughtfully.

“My mom was Italian and my dad was in one of those pretentious wine clubs, so I learned a lot about wine growing up.” Was and was? So, both of his parents were dead. Peter was curious, but he didn’t want to pry or make Tony sad, so he didn’t ask.

“How old were you when you started drinking wine?” Peter stabbed a piece of pasta with his fork.  

“Let’s just say I don’t remember not drinking it when I was a kid.” Tony pointed a finger at him accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that; it was mostly just a glass at dinner.” Tony beamed mischievously, causing Peter to laugh. He was so relieved the awkwardness was replaced with their usual banter.

“Can I try some?”

Typically, Peter would be avoiding the whole concept of alcohol and everything relating to it so soon after The Incident, but this felt different. He wanted to drink with Tony.

No, that wasn’t right. Getting drunk wasn’t his objective nor was it his motivator for wanting to drink wine.

“Peter…” Tony was totally going to say no, but Peter persisted before he could cement his answer.

“Please? Just a little? I want to get the whole Italian experience.” Peter gestured to the plate of pasta in front of him.

If they were both drinking, it was like there was nothing separating them. They could be, maybe even just for a moment, two people who liked each other enjoying a meal together. No judgment or guilt. No line pointing out the obvious, telling them what they could and could not do.

Just them.

Peter liked that concept.

“One glass, but that’s it.” Tony stressed firmly, and got up to retrieve a glass from the cabinet. By the time he sat back down, Peter had given up trying to play it cool and was beaming with delight.  

“One glass.” Peter assured (psh, like it was his choice) as Tony poured from the bottle into his glass. “Thank you.”

“And if you ask for another, then it’s bed without dessert.” Tony joked as Peter took another sip.

“Dessert?” Peter licked the wine off his bottom lip.  “What’s for dessert?” Peter blinked up at Tony and didn’t realize until he met his dark eyes how damn lewd those words sounded.

Jesus fucking Christ, Peter.

“Ice cream.” Tony cleared his throat, not too subtly. “There’s ice cream in the freezer.”

So, he was just supposed to ignore the insane sexual chemistry they had forever? Yes, of course he was-for obvious reasons that he didn’t want to specifically think about at the moment because he was having a good time and Tony seemed to be too, and they weren’t doing anything wrong. They were getting along so well, he just-he didn’t want it to end, okay? Peter didn’t want it to be ruined and he definitely didn’t want to be the one to ruin it by coming on to Tony. Again. Why the fuck was the universe doing this to him?

“We can call it gelato.” Peter suggested, aiming for a light tone. “For, you know, the full Italian experience.”

When Tony chuckled at his stupid joke, Peter was overcome with mirth. Maybe it was the wine (it wasn’t; he had barely touched it yet) or maybe it was just the feeling of knowing he pleased Tony (it was definitely the feeling of knowing he pleased Tony), either way, Peter was happy and the vibe that was there before Peter sensually asked about dessert was back. Sure, Peter was still a little hard under the table, but it was okay because, if Peter squinted a bit, it was like he and Tony were on a real date. If he could have that, or at least be able to feel like it was real, Peter could live with his boner.

 

After dinner and discarding their aprons, they headed into the living room to watch a movie. The wine made Peter sleepy and more pliant than usual, so he didn’t put up much of a fight when Tony assured him he was fine with Peter taking the couch (“Really, Peter,” Tony had said with a grin, tossing a blanket at him, “cool it with the politeness.”). Tony opted for the chair next to it. Peter rested his head on the arm of the couch closest to Tony and cuddled into the blanket. He loved this, being so close to him. Peter was like a kitten and Tony was the fireplace he was resting next to, providing him warmth and safety and everything he could ever want.

 

*

 

“Kid.” Peter felt a hand grip his arm. He groaned and batted it away. “Peter.” The voice was definitely amused, fond even. _Tony_. “Come on. Time for bed.”

“Bed?” Were they not in bed? Peter blinked slowly. The room was dark besides the light emitted from the television, and there were credits rolling on the screen. What movie had they watched?

“Yes--bed. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” Tony tugged gently at his wrist. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Peter stood up groggily and let himself be led down the hallway and into his bedroom. As soon as he got close enough, Peter flopped onto his bed and wrapped his arms around the nearest pillow.

“Hey, not yet.” Tony’s voice was so close to him. Peter struggled to open his eyes. “Your shoes are still on and you’re not even under the sheets.”

“S’okay.” Peter mumbled. He was perfectly happy falling asleep as he was, even with the light on. He felt the mattress shift as Tony sat down. Peter sighed contentedly, moving closer to him on instinct. _Sleep here. With me_. 

“No, it’s not okay.” Tony said and for a moment, Peter forgot what he was talking about. “Come on, take off your shoes.”

Peter lazily kicked his feet against each other, trying to do as he was told. His shoelaces were too tight and he groaned in frustration.

“Alright, let me help.” Peter could tell Tony was grinning, amused by his incompetence. As Tony leaned over to untie his shoes, Peter was reminded of that night when Tony had to fasten his seatbelt for him.

_I love when you call me ‘sweetheart’._

That was how it started before it went too far. Before Peter fucked up.

“Thank you.” Peter spoke softly once Tony pulled his shoes off.

“You’re welcome.”  

Silence fell between them once again, but it wasn’t the awkward kind.

Tony was sitting in the same spot on the bed when Peter kissed him, when he touched him and felt how hard he was…and that changed things. Created a spark that was so tangible it was impossible to ignore.

Tony was hard that night. Tony was hard. He was hard.

Peter knew he was blushing, could feel the pink blossoming across every patch of his cheeks.

Peter knew they were thinking the same thing when he saw Tony swallow hard. Peter focused on the movement of his Adam’s apple, couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

 _Please sit with me._ Peter wanted to cringe, to feel ashamed, and a big part of him did, but right now, he couldn’t focus on that aspect. Not when Tony was sitting so close, having the same thoughts, looking into him with those dark eyes.

And then Tony stood up. He walked to the doorway and clicked off the light.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

As much as he wanted Tony to stay, Peter wasn’t going to stop him. He couldn’t.

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

 

*

 

Peter woke up feeling well-rested for the first time in months.

Was it seriously 10:30? Peter sank back into the bed, soaking in the warmth of his sheets, and tried to remember if he woke up at any point during the night. Did Peter actually get ten hours of full, uninterrupted sleep? What the fuck? He hadn’t gotten ten hours in…hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept for ten hours straight.

He pulled on a hoodie and sweatpants before wandering into the kitchen.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called out. He listened for a response, but heard nothing. He wandered into Mary’s room, making sure to knock before he opened the door. Nothing. Tony must have gone somewhere.

 

Right as Peter started to make his way back to his room, the doorbell rang. Peter was so sure it was Tony, he didn’t even think to check the peephole before swinging the door wide open.

Of all the people in the world, there Flash Thompson stood, in front of him, backpack flung over his shoulder.

For half a second, Peter questioned whether he was in some bizarre dream, and then he realized even his own imagination that could couple he and Tony together could not create this.

“Parker.”

Peter’s polite instincts kicked in after a second of awkward silence. “Uh, how are you?” At the spark of small talk, Flash narrowed his gaze uncongenially. Great, he was already pissed off. What could he want? Besides the party, Flash had never shown any real interest in spending time with Peter outside of class. Ever. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m promising you candy if you get in my van.”

“Sorry.” Peter said, somehow with genuine guilt. He tried to slide his expression into nonchalance. “I’m just…I didn’t know you were coming.” Here. At his front door.

“I can’t imagine you could have unless you’re clairvoyant or bothered to check your email. I would have been more than happy to meet somewhere else, had you answered.”

“My school email?” Peter, like most students at Midtown High, checked it once a week, at most. Flash looked at him like he was crazy. (Because _that_ made sense).

“Yeah, of course your school email. You think I have your personal email?”

“I don’t know, Flash, that’s a few steps below having my address, which, by the way, you haven’t told me how you got.”

“How do you think? Through the only person at school who has actually ever been to your house.” Ned couldn’t have given Peter a heads up? “I was half-convinced you lived under a bridge.” What was that supposed to--was Flash calling him a troll? “I texted you, too.”

“I guess I left my phone in the living room last night. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Flash shrugged.

“So, uh, what’s going on?”

“Mr. White sent out our partner list last night.” Flash said, flicking his hand up and gesturing behind him as if their teacher was also standing in the apartment’s hallway. Peter thought he was going to go more into detail, but Flash just looked at him expectantly, boredom tugging at his eyelashes as he blinked, slow and perturbed.  

“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“Is it not obvious? That fascist paired us together.” Flash snorted, pushing past him. Peter stood back, letting him, honestly a little surprised he didn’t force entry earlier.

“And you couldn’t wait until Monday to talk to me about it?” Peter followed him into the kitchen, wondering how Flash managed to show up randomly at his apartment and made him feel stupid for being surprised and a little weirded out by it.  

“You might be fine with procrastinating on this project, but I am not.” Flash reached for the light dimmer on the wall and toggled it to the brightest setting. “This room doesn’t have enough light.”

“Procrastinating?” Peter rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. “Isn’t it due at the end of the semester? Like, right before Christmas break?”

“Yes, and if that doesn’t show you how hefty this project is, I don’t know what will. You’re…decent at school.” Flash said with reluctance, and-wow, was that kind of a compliment? “Usually.” Flash added hastily. “I don’t know what the hell was going on with you during the Gatsby test.”

Oh, right, because getting a ‘B’ on one test made Peter a slacker in Flash’s eyes. He forgot about that.

“I was stressed out, okay? I’m fine now.”

“Whatever drug you were on or whatever kind of aneurism your brain felt like having that day needs to not happen for the next two months.”

“Noted.” Peter yawned.

“Do you have a better room for studying?” Flash asked, milling around the kitchen.

“I usually just study in my room.”

“Who’s Tony?”

“What?” Peter’s eyes widened. Flash handed him a sticky-note he picked up from the counter. How had Peter not seen that?

_Peter,_

_I went to talk to Chambers about the exhibit. Be back around 12. Call me if you need anything!_

_Tony_

Wow. Even his handwriting was hot. Peter focused on the exclamation mark in his last sentence and smiled. 

“Who’s Tony?” Flash asked again, this time with much less patience.

“He’s my mom’s boyfriend.” Peter explained, hating how those words sounded rolling off his tongue. “She is out of town for her friend’s wedding, so he’s kind of watching me.”

“Huh. That’s weird.” Flash remarked thoughtfully. “So, do you want to make coffee first before we go to your room? Because I can’t deal with you if you are going to fall asleep.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Flash liked Peter’s room much more than the kitchen. He nodded approvingly as soon as they stepped in.

“Last year, Mr. White wrote a letter of recommendation for Zachary Baldwin’s college applications. Do you know where Zachary Baldwin is now, Parker?” Peter didn’t bother trying to respond, knowing even if it wasn’t rhetorical, Flash wasn’t going to let him, anyway. “Yale. Zachary Baldwin is at Yale, Parker. What does that say?” Flash clicked on the desk lamp before placing it on the floor.

Peter wondered with idle suspicion if Flash was just making the story up, as he did not remember anyone named Zachary Baldwin being in the grade above them.

“Good for Zachary Baldwin?” Then again, Midtown was decently large and Flash always did his research, so maybe there was a Zachary Baldwin who was at Yale. Why did this matter, again?

“Good for both of us _if_ ,” Flash emphasized, holding up his index finger, “we do phenomenally on this project together.” Would Peter even apply to Yale? Probably not. 

Flash shrugged off his backpack and sat down on Peter’s floor. He unzipped the bag and started taking books out.  

Peter was tempted to bring up the fact he had a higher GPA than Flash, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. Peter wasn’t _petty_.

“Okay, fine.” He nodded, even though Flash wasn’t facing him and couldn’t see his expression.

“Parker, this counts for fifty percent of our final grade for the semester. That’s twenty-five percent of the whole year. This project makes or breaks everything.” Peter resisted rolling his eyes. To Flash, _every_ assignment made or broke everything. “Hey, you can try your hand at convincing Mr. White to switch partners.” Flash took a second to smile sweetly at Peter before turning back to his binder and flipping through it. “If he would even go for it, you’d get stuck with some idiot without the slightest idea of what they’re doing. He or she will either make you do all the work or do a half-assed job at it and you will be stuck with a ‘B’ at highest. Now, sit down.”

Peter wasn’t exactly comfortable referring to his classmates as idiots. He briefly thought about arguing with him, but where would that get him? So, to save his own time, really, Peter just sat down. It was when he was closer that Flash’s set up caught his attention. His textbooks littered the floor, but not in a messy way. There was intention in the placement of the books that suggested it was a system Flash used frequently to study. The longer Peter looked, the more he noticed the intricacy. There were several stacked sheets of loose leaf paper on his left side, pens ranging from all colors resting neatly next to each other. He had four textbooks out in front of him, beyond his binder in his lap but close enough to turn the pages, already opened to specific sections that Peter was sure would benefit the project. There were three more books, but they were pushed farther off to the side, accessible if Flash decided he wanted them. Peter was wondering how long it took him to perfect it all to his liking when he was struck with the abrupt realization just how fucking bizarre this was. Flash was efficient, there really was no denying that, but he was secretive. He was _always_ so secretive about how he succeeded. How he studied, how he took notes, all of it. Flash would never be comfortable with showing anyone the way he studied or did research-ever. And now, just like that, it was on display for _Peter_ of all people to see? Under normal circumstances, this would have been impossible. But why weren’t these normal circumstances? What changed? It couldn’t have just been a grade.  

“Why do you even want to work with me?” Peter tapped his fingers against his knee restlessly. Why wasn’t Flash bothering Mr. White to switch partners? It’s not like Flash sought him out for this project, but he wasn’t trying to push him away, either, and that made Peter nervous. Nervous because it was unlike Flash. Of all the years they had known each other, he never wanted to work with Peter.

“I know we’ve had our differences in the past, Parker, but right now, we’re on the same team. You are my best shot at getting the best possible grade on this and whether you see it or not yet, I am your best shot, too.” Even with Flash’s words, the suspicious feeling in Peter’s gut lingered.  Maybe he was just too used to Flash acting a certain way that when he drifted from that even a little bit it caught him off guard.

_But this wasn’t a little bit._

“It’s called mutualism.” Flash chimed back in condescendingly when Peter didn’t respond. “We learned about it in sixth grade…”

“I know what mutualism is, Flash.” Peter snapped, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “I also know that it’s not your style.” No, Flash was strictly parasitism. He proved that their freshman year when he paid a kid with the flu to cough on Mrs. Digg’s desk a few days before the exam. _That_ was fucked up.

And why would his teacher pair them together, anyway? Of all the students in the class, Mr. White made the conscious decision to make Peter Parker and Flash Thompson partners? Was he on drugs?

“How are you going to handle not being in competition against me?” Peter asked.

More than that, how were they going to get through this? Peter listened to Mr. White announce it on their first day when he was covering their syllabus. This project wasn’t exactly a two-hundred-word essay. They were going to be spending hours together, months working on this.

“I don’t think you get how much I want this ‘A’.”

“Yeah, but-”

“-I’m not saying it won’t be an adjustment. It’s different for me, but hey, stranger things have happened. So, are you in or are you out?”

“I guess I’m in.” Peter approaching a teacher and begging for a different partner was about just as likely as him skipping school. Plus, he really didn’t mind Flash. Most of the time.

“Then, let’s get to work.” Flash clicked his pen. “Okay, let’s go down the subject list and narrow down a topic.” He handed him a copy of the choices Mr. White gave the class to research. “I’ve already made a pro’s and con’s list. Obviously, I went ahead and scratched off the basic ones. That entails the basics: _Romeo and Juliet_ , _Frankenstein_ , _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , _Lord of the Flies_ , _The Catcher in the Rye_ , _The Scarlett Letter_ , et cetera.”

“Wait, why rule out _Frankenstein_? There are tons of themes to touch on.”

“Themes aren’t the problem. We’re trying to stand out, Parker. _Everyone_ wants to talk about the power dynamic between Victor and the Creature during the creation scene. Odds are, it’s taken, anyway.” Flash took his pen and tapped it against Peter’s paper. “Check out the underlined ones. Right now, the top contenders are _Carrie_ , _Mrs. Dalloway_ , _Death of a Salesman_ , _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , and _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_. Thoughts?”

“Dark themes.” Peter chewed on his bottom lip as he peered down at the list. “We shouldn’t do Stephen King. I like him, but not for this. Too story-based.”

To Peter’s surprise, Flash scribbled through the title without arguing.

“What about _Mrs. Dalloway_?”

“I’ve never read it. Did you make a list for-?” Flash shoved another piece of paper in his hands before Peter could finish his sentence. Right. Of course, he did.

They spent the next hour going over their options. Flash was being surprisingly receptive to Peter’s suggestions.

It was when they finally crossed _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ off their list that Flash made another remark about Peter’s grade on the Gatsby test, and finally, he couldn’t stand it.

“Why were you so mad about that, anyway?” Peter implored. “About me getting a ‘B’?”

“I wasn’t _mad_ at you.” Flash scribbled more notes on his paper. “I was just…I don’t know. I expected better from you.” He paused and Peter stayed patient because he knew Flash wasn’t that great at emotions besides anger and that he wanted to say more. “I pick my opponents carefully.”

“You picked me?”

“Parker, it’s obviously always been you. There’s no one else who can keep up with me. It’s not that I picked you. How could I pick you when there’s no competition?”

“Like a keep-your-friends-close-but-keep-your-enemies-closer type of thing?

“Do you really think you are my enemy?”

“Do you really think it’s surprising that I might believe that?”

“I don’t want to see you fail.”

“I don’t think that necessarily. I just know you’ve been happy in the past when you get a better grade than I do.”

“Yeah, by like two or three points. Not nineteen.” Flash picked at his shoe, almost shyly. “When _you_ get that kind of score, there’s no competition.”

And Peter was so damn surprised by this sudden confession that he almost didn’t hear the front door open.

“Peter?” Peter nearly broke his neck by how fast he turned to face Tony.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, this is Flash.” Peter fucking had to introduce them. He was too polite not to and really, that was probably his greatest detriment (besides falling in love with his mom’s boyfriend).

“Hello.” Tony greeted stiffly. “Peter, can I talk to you for a second?” He asked like it was a question, but Peter did not sense that he had a choice at all. Shit, he was in trouble.

“Yeah. Sure, yeah.” Peter hopped to his feet, sparing Flash a glance. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 “How long has he been here?” was the first thing that slipped out of Tony’s mouth when Peter cut the corner to the kitchen.

“Maybe an hour?” Peter couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by how easily stressed Tony got around Flash Thompson. “You really don’t like him.” It wasn’t a question, but Peter was half-expecting Tony to answer it like it was one.

“I really don’t like him.” Tony confirmed, frowning, gaze set firmly on the door like Flash was going to come in any second.

Peter wanted to ask Tony directly why he wasn’t fond of Flash, but decided it was simply too blunt. Things were still weird since The Incident and maybe pushing him wasn’t the best idea.  

“He’s a good person.” Peter mumbled and he wasn’t even lying. “Flash is just abrasive.” _Abrasive_. Now, that was a suitable word to describe Flash Thompson. Judging by the way Tony’s frown deepened, he didn’t seem to think so.

“He got you drunk.”

Peter blinked, taken aback, because that was the closest Tony had come to denoting energy into the idea that night even happened at all. But, no. That wasn’t how it happened. Tony wasn’t there, he hadn’t seen Peter.

Not yet.

“I chose to drink.” Peter protested.

“You want to try to convince me that he wasn’t feeding you drinks all night?”

“I didn’t have to take them!” He insisted. “I drank because I wanted to. He would never have forced me.” This, Peter was sure of. Flash was rough around the edges, okay, that was one thing. But for Tony to think that he would do something like that? It was appallingly inaccurate.

“Just because he wasn’t physically holding you down and funneling liquor down your throat does not mean he wasn’t coercing you into doing it. He knows the way you are, your nature, and he takes advantage of it.”

“My nature?”

“He knows that you are kind and innocent and eager to please, and that the word ‘no’ is completely foreign to you.”

Peter exhaled in frustration, avoiding the older man’s gaze. Tony understanding him so well without knowing him for that long was enthralling, but using it against him to prove his point? Not cool.

 “What do you think would have happened?” And so what if Flash got him drunk on purpose? There was nothing for him to gain. He pretty much looked after Peter the whole night, anyway. Everything was fine, so why was this relevant?

“I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if I didn’t pick you up.”

“You think he would have tried something on me?”

Were they talking about the same snarky asshole? The guy, who, not even an hour ago, implied Peter was a troll? Why? Why did Tony think he was such a threat?

“I know he would have.”

“No. No, he doesn’t-he doesn’t even like me like that. I’m not sure he even likes me as a friend but he definitely doesn’t like me like _that_.”

“Peter, you cannot be this naïve.”

The words hit him like needles and set Peter on fire. Because “naïve” sounded too much like “childish” and Peter was sick of being considered a kid.

“I am _not_ naïve.” Peter narrowed his eyes, too worked up to be concerned with the hostility in his tone. Tony’s eyebrows twitched a fraction of an inch, a subtle change that Peter picked up on.

Fucking hell.

It was frustrating. Tony wanted to forget the other night happened at all. He didn’t want to do anything with him-he didn’t _want_ Peter-or, at least, he wasn’t going to act on it. He was the one who swept it under the rug, not Peter. It was Peter’s mess and it was his fault, so he had no right to be angry with how Tony wanted to handle it. And it fucking sucked, it hurt like hell, but Peter _got_ _it_. He understood why he did it, he knew why it needed to happen. But that was what happened.

And so, what if he was? He and Flash could be fucking. The thought made Peter feel kind of weird and it was a stretch for him to imagine, but they could, they could be having sex and Tony couldn’t do anything about it. It wouldn’t be any of Tony’s business, right? He was Peter’s mom’s boyfriend, or his boyfriend, and he certainly was not his father. If Peter wasn’t Tony’s, then why did him talking to Flash matter?

“Why do you care if I like Flash?”

“Don’t.” Tony’s voice was shaky as he clamped his hand over Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t say that.”

“What if I did?” Peter persisted, searching his eyes. “Why would you care?”

“Peter, please.” He pleaded, strained. “Please just get him out of here.”

 

*

 

 “Check your email tonight. We are picking the book before class.”  Flash was not super enthused about leaving after only an hour, but he wasn’t complaining as much as Peter would have thought.

“You know, maybe we should just go with Wilde.” Peter suggested as he leaned against the doorframe, doing his best to feign nonchalance.

“I don’t love that it’s short.”

“Death of a Salesman is way shorter. Besides, that shouldn’t even be a factor.”

Then, Flash looked at him. That was what happened, he just looked at him, but in a way that he never had before. His eyes cut through him, triggering a pool of unease in Peter’s stomach. Peter wanted to take a step backwards, to shield himself from Flash seeing him because his eyes were too aware, disturbingly aware, setting off alarms in Peter’s head. The mood shifting from casual to serious happened so quickly that Peter didn’t know how to react. Flash chuckled, lowly and without humor, and yes, Peter was certain.

Something was wrong.

“Come on, Parker. You of all people should know,” Flash flickered his gaze past him, where Tony was standing in the living room, “when regarding something controversial, _everything_ is a factor.”

A rush of uninhibited dread ran its way down Peter’s spine, brushing against his bones, making his skin crawl. He stood still, speechless, gaping at him.  

“I’ll see you on Monday.” As Flash turned down the hall, Peter wanted to stop him, to attempt to pry into what the hell he was talking about.

But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t. Because he knew exactly what Flash meant.

He knew about Peter and Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise updates will be more regular from now on. I'm all settled in to college and everything finally feels relaxed. I appreciate all of your feedback about the schedule that I asked for last chapter (an eternity ago). A lot of the comments were pretty half and half about when to update, so I may do 5k in 10 days and then 3k the next week. I think I'm just going to have to base it on the plot and how the story is flowing. 
> 
> As always, all comments are appreciated <3 please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments. 
> 
>  
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr - richieloveseds (feel free to send me an ask or just message me if you want to chat)  
> (if you want any one shots or anything requests are open btw. I've never done that before so we'll just have to see how it goes)


	10. Tony Talks About The Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony work on their communication skills. Peter confronts Flash and finds out what book he picked for their project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for your patience
> 
> When you finish this chapter, please let me know what you think in the comments. There is a moment in this one that has been...highly anticipated :) and I want to know what you guys think.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoyyyyyy !

Peter sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the desk lamp shining on the opened binder in his lap. He rested his elbow on his knee and settled his chin under the palm of his hand, fingers brushing his cheek as he flipped through his notes.

It had been about an hour since Peter showed Flash out.

He wasn’t _hiding_.

He was courteous enough to mumble to Tony that he was going to be studying as he passed by, so it wasn’t like he was having a temper tantrum.  No slamming doors. Peter wasn’t going to fucking pout. He just needed time to think.

He was a little wounded.

Yes, it was bad that Flash suspected literally anything about he and Tony. That was not good and he couldn’t spin it into a way that was good, but how much proof could he really have? Peter would confront him at school on Monday. Yes, he decided, that was his plan. As much as Peter wanted to focus every bit of his attention on what to do about Flash, he couldn’t stay concentrated. Peter had bigger shit to deal with. Like Tony.

Fuck.

Tony. Tony, who got jealous because Flash was too close.

Just then, a knock at his door stirred Peter from his thoughts. Peter left it cracked intentionally so he didn’t seem entirely unwelcoming. _He wasn’t going to pout._

“Can I come in?” Tony asked, lightly pushing the door open.

“Yeah, sure.” Of course, he could come in. Peter was mad at him, not over him. It would take a hell of a lot more than a fight for Peter to not want to see him.

Peter straightened his posture unconsciously and fiddled with the pen in his hand as Tony stepped into the room.

Tony gave the desk chair a contemplative glance before sitting down in front of Peter on the floor.

“I owe you an apology.”

An apology? Peter tilted his head in surprise.

“Yes.” Tony stated. Peter watched with curiosity as Tony’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for not talking about the night you were drunk.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

If Peter was drinking water when Tony said that, he surely would have choked and died on the spot.

“Uh-I, uh.” Peter struggled to speak, completely caught off guard. What could he say to that? Tony wanted to talk about it. No pushing it under the rug and pretending it never happened. He wanted to talk about it? _It_? Was he sure?

“It wasn’t the right way to take care of it.” Tony explained carefully, seeming to sense Peter’s apprehension. Peter didn’t like that sentence at all. It implied Tony was the one who had to solve the problem. Like it was his fault. There he went again, shifting the blame from Peter. Just how he blamed Flash for Peter’s drinking.

“But you weren’t supposed to take care of it.” Peter insisted. It was his mess; not Tony’s.

“I’m supposed to take care of _you_.” Oh. _Oh_. “And, by extension, what came of that night and what happened after.” Tony ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed before meeting Peter’s eyes. “I’m sure you have noticed that I can be somewhat protective of you.”

“You can?” Peter offered a small grin, thankful for the little opportunity of lightheartedness. He said it in a teasing voice, not to deter the vibe of seriousness, but to show Tony that he was listening. “I didn’t notice.”

Tony smiled back lightly.

“I know you’re not weak or defenseless, so please, don’t take it like that. I’m sorry for saying you were naïve. It wasn’t true.” With the calm sincerity in his voice, the apology felt like salve on a wound, and Peter felt better immediately. “I keep expecting you to just suddenly act childish. A part of me wants you to because it would make things so much easier.” He chuckled cynically. “The problem is you’re not naïve. You’re so mature and smart and sometimes, I forget that you’re sixteen.” Tony rubbed a hand against his cheek and shook his head, visibly distraught. “That’s not something I should forget.”

Peter blushed at the compliments, but he didn’t turn his head or shy away like he usually did when his cheeks reddened around Tony. This sort of straightforward communication was not something he and Tony had done before and it meant a lot. Peter didn’t want to fuck it up.

 “I thought by not talking about what happened, I was protecting you, but I was just making things worse. That night, you were so drunk, Peter.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have had that much to drink.” Peter admitted. “It was irresponsible of me. And okay, you were right in the fact that Flash was encouraging me to drink.” Peter didn’t miss the way Tony’s jaw went taut as he processed the information. “But!” Peter quickly interjected before Tony could lose his shit. “It still came down to him asking me if I wanted to, and I said yes.” Peter couldn’t let Tony completely blame Flash for something that wasn’t really his fault. That just-it didn’t sit well with him.

“Why do you insist on protecting him?”

“It’s not about protecting him; it’s about being honest and taking responsibility. And _honestly_ , I wanted to drink. I just wanted to feel normal, like I was like any other teenager at that party.” Peter picked at the plastic of his binder. Why did he have to choose a green binder? It was so childish. He should have gone for black. Maybe then, he’d seem older. “I wanted to forget. Just for a little while. Do you know what I mean?” It was such a vague statement that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Tony asked him to elaborate. But he didn’t.

“I know exactly what you mean.” He said it with such sincerity that Peter knew he understood.

They were on the same wavelength.

“How do you know you remember everything?” Tony searched his eyes and Peter was struck with the feeling Tony had been thinking about this particular aspect for a while. “How do you know for sure you remember everything from that night? What if you’re saying you meant something else than what happened? Or just part of it?”

Like Peter could ever forget touching or kissing Tony.

“There are parts of the night I don’t remember. When I was at the party, things skipped a little bit from when I was dancing to talking to Ned to talking to Flash to being outside. But I remember every second from when you picked me up to when you petted my hair and I fell asleep.” Peter chewed on his bottom lip. “I’ve gone through that night in my head so many times.” The confession should have felt embarrassing, would have typically felt downright humiliating but for some reason, it didn’t. “I would know if I forgot one minute of it.”

“You had so much tequila. You were bound to act recklessly.”

There was his cue. The signal for Peter to tell Tony it was a mistake, that he didn’t mean it. Tony handed him his out on a silver platter. If Peter agreed, they’d probably never talk about it again. Tony was watching him so carefully, and Peter knew he was waiting for him to take the bait. But he couldn’t. Peter couldn’t tell Tony what he wanted to hear.

“I can’t lie to you. I don’t want to lie to you.” Peter began. “I can’t-I can’t tell you that I didn’t mean everything I said to you because…” His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. Tony’s eyes, although wide and stunned, pulled him back, grounding him. “Because I did mean it.”

If Tony was going to lead, Peter was going to follow.

“I wish I could tell you that I was just blackout drunk and would’ve hit on a rock if given the chance, but that’s just not true, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for trying anything because it wasn’t fair to you.”

“Wasn’t fair to me?” Tony frowned. "Peter, I was taking advantage of you.”

“Is that what you think?” Peter looked at him in disbelief. No. No, that wasn’t-no, that was not okay for him to think. “You did not take advantage of me. You had every opportunity that night but you resisted.”

“I wasn’t innocent, Peter. I said things. I called you things.” Tony sounded so disappointed in himself. The idea that he’d been upset with himself since it happened was so wrong on so many levels. “The way I was touching your hair-”

“-Was exactly what I needed.” Peter interrupted. “You did everything right.”

Tony still looked unsure.

Peter gingerly closed the binder in his lap and placed it off to the side.

He didn’t want any barriers between them.

“You did not hurt me.” Peter emphasized. “You took care of me. You always do.”

When Peter was eight, Mary took him to an alligator show when he was visiting his grandparents in Florida. Peter watched in horror as the zookeeper reached his hand inside the alligator’s opened mouth. Peter never had understood that kind of trust. One snap of the alligator’s jaw and that man would have lost his whole hand.  

That’s how Peter felt as he crawled into Tony’s lap. One wrong move and he could lose everything. Maybe he already was.

Tony stilled underneath him. He didn’t stop Peter as he put his arms around Tony’s neck, but he didn’t move to touch him either.  Peter leaned in until his forehead was pressed against Tony’s. He wanted to close his eyes but he was scared, fucking terrified that if he opened them again, this wouldn’t be reality and Tony wouldn’t be there.

“You know we can’t.”  

“I know.”

Peter leaned in, just an inch or two further, and kissed his lips, hoping he was doing it right.

When Tony kissed back, Peter could have fucking died. Tony gave in so fast, wrapping his arms around Peter’s back and dipping his tongue so softly in Peter’s mouth. This was a level of intimacy Peter never knew was achievable outside of clichéd romcoms. The overwhelming feeling of closeness and comfort and understanding struck Peter like a wave. The gentle way he kissed back, his hands caressing Peter’s back, every movement defined with so much intention. And all Peter could think was: how could this _ever_ be wrong? This was the most he ever felt like he was doing something right, like he belonged exactly where he was. 

Tony was the kind of drug that was constantly warned about taking. The one they advised against in little brochures in the guidance counselor’s office at school. The drug that Peter grew up hearing about the itching and the mass destruction it could cause. And Peter knew this, knew all of it, but it didn’t fucking matter because Peter still _wanted_. He wanted so badly. He was hooked on Tony Stark, and Peter knew it was going to destroy him everywhere it counted, but it was too late to stop. Whatever recovery options there were, Peter didn’t want them. He couldn’t even consider them. Not when he was curled up in Tony’s lap being kissed with purpose like he was something to be cherished.

When Tony nibbled delicately on his bottom lip, Peter let out a little moan. Immediately, Tony’s hand Tony’s hand made its way up Peter’s back, until it was curling around the nape of his neck. He gripped a lock of Peter’s hair almost warningly, like he would pull Peter back if he did something else, maybe tried to venture further.

When Tony pulled back, his lips were glistening with saliva. Peter’s saliva. Jesus.

“I would mess you up, kid. I would ruin you and I don’t think you get that.”

“You would never.”

“Why are you so trusting of me?” Tony cupped Peter’s face in his hands, studying him in marvel. “Huh?” He brushed his thumb tenderly against Peter’s cheek. 

“No one takes care of me like you do.” Peter replied, and it might have been the truest thing he ever said. Maybe they were both trying to prove their points. Tony’s gaze was both unwavering and indecipherable. All Peter could do was stare back, mesmerized. Then, with his hand, still gripped around the back of Peter’s neck, Tony pulled Peter back in to kiss him again.

 

*

 

“I kissed him.”

 “ _You_ kissed _him_?” Ned’s jaw dropped. “What the shit? When? How long did it last? Where?”

“Saturday, in my room. I don’t know actually how long it was. Anywhere from two minutes to fifteen? Maybe twenty? Or ten? Five?” Why was Peter so uncertain? It kind of felt like half an hour, but Peter was sure he would’ve creamed his pants if it had gone on _that_ long. Time moved differently with Tony.

“That’s not a kiss; that’s a full on makeout session!” Ned bumped his shoulder as he put some textbooks in his locker. “What did you do after?”

“We ordered a pizza.”

Ned rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Is that like a gay code word for putting his dick in your a-”

“-No! God, Ned!” Peter surveyed the hallways with a sweeping glance, making sure no one was close enough to hear them. “We just ordered a pizza. Literally a pizza. From Joe’s.” 

“You guys kissed a full day before your mom came home and you stopped there to order a pizza?” Ned looked so skeptical, Peter had to take a second to relay the information to himself to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how it went down.”

“Wow.” Ned whistled lowly. “So, nothing happened after at all? Even on Sunday?”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “Nothing. It was just that one kiss.”  

He knew this part would be hard to explain. After the kiss, the rest of the weekend wasn’t awkward and it didn’t feel like the subject was being ignored. Peter kissed him because he had to show him. If anything, they were surprisingly comfortable around each other, maybe more than they were before. Peter would’ve expected himself to run away immediately, but with the two of them both there, and Tony being how he was, Peter didn’t feel like he had a reason to run. But now, with Mary back, their little escapist weekend was over. It was like a perfect dream that Peter wasn’t ready to wake up from yet. At least, for now, besides the guilt climbing back up his spine, Peter was somewhat relaxed with where he was. Oh, right, and Flash. How could Peter forget about Flash? The thought soured his mood. He had to confront him. Today.

“I can’t even think about the kiss right now, Ned.”

“What do you mean? I would bet my Mike Piazza baseball that the kiss is the only thing you have been thinking about since the moment it happened.” Ned leaned in closer to inspect Peter’s face. “Did you even sleep last night?”

Yeah, Peter definitely wasn’t up until four A.M. dancing in his room to Hannah Montana’s iconic song, “He Could Be the One” on repeat. (No one could prove anything.)

“Not the point.” Peter swatted him away. “Flash knows. Or, he thinks he knows.”

“Flash knows about what?” Ned furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m not going to name names, but _somebody_ -” Peter glared at him, “gave him my address, failed to let me know about it, and he showed up at my house to work on our partner project.”

“Oh, shit, that’s _right_.” Ned’s eyes widened in a moment of enlightenment. “My bad. That is totally on me. In my defense, he was blowing up my phone. So, what happened?”

“Something about me and Tony being together. I don’t know exactly.” Peter looked around the hallway to see if he could see Flash. “He might have heard me and Tony arguing about him. Tony came off insanely jealous, but it could’ve been seen as a paternal thing, too.”

“Daddy. Gotcha.” Ned nodded, following along. “What happened next?”

“He weirdly alluded to it before he left. It was like a warning, but he really made it clear that he knew.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘when regarding something controversial, everything is a factor’.”

“I don’t know, Peter, that sounds pretty vague. Are you sure he knows about it?”

“It sounded pretty clear when he said it.” Peter was damn near positive when it happened.

But…

Maybe Peter was wrong. Maybe Flash didn’t know.

“You should try to ask him about it. But subtly.” Ned added. “Just in case he doesn’t know.”

Peter glanced at his phone to check the time.

“I’ll catch him in Mr. White’s class. We’ll be doing partner projects, so it should be easy to talk.”

“Good luck with that, buddy. It is never easy to talk to Flash Thompson.”

 

*

 

When Peter entered his classroom seventh period, Flash was already at a desk with his supplies out.

“Oh, there you are. Good.” Flash retrieved a hardcover book from his backpack and handed it to him. “Went ahead and got your copy, too.”

Peter was halfway done thanking him when he turned the book over to read the cover and the words got caught in his throat.

“Are you fucking serious?” Peter actually couldn’t believe it. “Flash, you can’t…This wasn’t even on our list.”

“I changed my mind. I really underestimated this book, you know? Just scratched it off the list without giving it the attention it deserves.”

“I didn’t agree to this. I don’t agree to this.” Peter said, shaking his head furiously. He tried to hand the book back to Flash, but he made no effort to take it from him.

“I already reserved it with Mr. White.” He shrugged indifferently. Like it was no big deal. Like picking that book wasn’t to spite Peter.

“So un-reserve it!” His voice came out loud, attracting several sets of eyes from around the classroom. Peter knew his classmates were used to witnessing Flash taunting him, but rarely did they ever see him bite back.

“Parker,” Flash’s tone was slow and nauseatingly patronizing, “if you had bothered to answer your email, you could have been more active in the decision-making process. I tried to include you.” He may as well have been a teacher talking to a four-year-old the way Flash was speaking to him. Like Peter was throwing a temper tantrum because he had wanted a different crayon.

“It was a busy weekend.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Flash grinned like a maniac and Peter was Officially Done.   

Peter did not consider himself a violent person. He may even go as far to call himself a pacifist. Peter never took his frustrations out by throwing or punching things. He signed a petition last year siding against parents physically disciplining their children. One time when they did a classroom backpack search in class for a student that had been reported to have a knife, the guy checking his didn’t even look through it; he just halfheartedly zipped it open and set it back down by Peter’s desk (which, if he wasn’t so scared, he may have even been offended by that, but that wasn’t the point). Peter was a firm believer in that violence did not solve problems. But holy fucking shit, he had never felt the urge to cause physical harm to anyone as much as he did right now. Peter wanted to fucking deck Flash in the face.

“What do you have against reading this book anyway?”

Peter looked down at the book in his hands, feeling his fingers ache with how hard he was gripping the sides.

 _Lolita_. What could Peter not like about the infamous novel where a middle-aged man pursues a twelve-year-old girl?

“It’s just an assignment, Parker.”

Except it wasn’t. It was petty and spiteful and honestly, none of Flash’s business, anyway.

Before Peter could even comprehend what he was doing, he took Flash’s wrist and led him out into the hallway. He could not risk more people knowing or speculating or giving any thought to the idea of Peter with his mom’s boyfriend. Not today, Satan.

“You and I both know why you picked this.” Peter growled. “It’s not even fucking true. You don’t know anything about it.”

“So, there’s something to know about?” Flash crossed his arms and leaned against the lockers.

“No! There’s nothing going on.”

“Then why do you care?!” Flash snapped loudly. He pointed an accusing finger at Peter. “I have poked and prodded at you since we were in elementary school. I’ve started countless rumors about you from being a vampire in second grade to having weird fetishes sophomore year, and do you know how you’ve responded every single time? You have never even blinked. You have never been anything but indifferent to what I’ve said about you. And this? I have never seen you react like this. _So_ hostile and defensive, and am I wrong in sensing a little bit of fear there too? Tell me, Parker, why is it different this time?”

God. Flash was right. Peter should have known how to react. He should have acted like he didn’t care. Peter was supposed to be convincing Flash there was nothing going on with he and Tony and now, he basically confirmed there was. He hated himself for being so emotional, for always wearing his heart on his sleeve, and he hated Flash for putting him in this position.

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Flash continued with a careless shrug. “Then there would be no issue with reading _Lolita_ , then, now would there? It’s a classic. And if there is something going on, then who knows? Maybe you will learn something from it.”

“You’re doing this to teach me a lesson?”

“I’m doing this because it’s a good book and will get us an ‘A’. But, if, at any point while reading, you come to the realization of how manipulative and dangerous pedophiles can be, well, I’m not against that.” 

“Don’t you dare call him that.”

“Of course, sorry, I meant ephebophile.” Flash waved his hand noncommittally. “That’s the term, isn’t it? Am I saying it wrong?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Peter’s teeth were going to be sore from how hard he was gritting them.

“Right.” Flash rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “I need you to read the first two chapters tonight and take notes on them. We’ll begin the plot map and do the background of Nabokov tomorrow in study hall.”

And then he started to walk away, just like he did at Peter’s apartment. This time, though, Peter wasn’t willing to let him have the last word.

“You don’t know when to stop, Flash!” Peter called to him. Flash stopped walking and turned to him. “That’s your fucking problem. You never know when enough is enough.”

Flash laughed-actually fucking laughed and took a few steps back in Peter’s direction.   

“Parker, we have _always_ shared that trait. That’s why I’m telling you--get out now, before it turns into a shitshow. Or, at least, more of one than it is now.”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“You think I’m just being a dick, but I’m not. I’m not judging you; I’m trying to _help_ you. It’s your choice. Chapter 2. Tomorrow.”

 

*

 

Peter told Ned about the Flash situation on the way to Decathlon practice. Ned, of course, was completely in agreement of Flash going too far with the book choice.

“Don’t stress about it.” Ned patted his shoulder comfortingly. “Flash wouldn’t actually do anything. He’s all bark and no bite.”

“So, what’s the bark? I’ll have to read this fucking book?” Peter wanted to throw it away so badly, just toss it in the trashcan, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Hurting books was pretty much a sin for Peter, even if did he acquire them through threats. He did tear off the flimsy cover, though. He _had_ to. He hated those cheap, glossy things.

“You read tons of books.” Ned pointed out. “What’s one more?”

Maybe he was right. He didn’t have to let this project get to him. It was just a book.

“Why is Flash like that?” Peter asked. “He’s so dramatic with it, too.” 

“He doesn’t have any siblings.” Ned said as they turned a corner. “I’m convinced people with no siblings are all entitled assholes.”

“Hey!” Peter frowned. “I’m an only-child.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only exception to that.” Ned said as if what he was saying was all perfectly rational. Peter took a gulp from his water bottle before twisting the cap back on.

“Can you…?” Peter asked, flicking his head towards his backpack. Ned nodded, taking the water bottle from him and shoving it in his backpack’s sleeve. “Thanks.” Peter said. They passed a Harry Potter poster in the hallway. Peter paused thoughtfully. “You know, I’m pretty sure Daniel Radcliffe doesn’t have siblings either.”

“Okay, fine. You and Daniel. The only ones.”

“What about Betty White?”

“Betty White is an only-child?” Ned looked at him incredulously. “No fucking way.” He whipped out his phone and was searching for the answer in seconds. “Wow.” Ned flashed the phone in Peter’s face confirming Betty White was, in fact, sibling-less. “I take it all back. This discounts everything previously stated. Flash is an asshole for reasons other than not having siblings.”  

“You know, just when I think we’re actually getting somewhere close to being friends, he pulls this and intentionally makes me mad at him?” Peter scoffed. “I just don’t get it.”

“Maybe he’s trying to push you away because he’s scared of having real friends.” Ned suggested. He pulled out scented hand sanitizer from his pocket and squirted some in his hands. “How angsty of him.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Peter huffed down at his feet, trying to avoid stepping on the cracks in the floor. When he looked back up, the gym doors were in sight. “Let’s talk more about this later.”

When they entered the gym, Peter felt a smile grow on his face. The week before, his mind had been completely occupied worrying about what happened with Tony, but now, that was sort of resolved, and with the exception of Flash’s bullshit, Peter finally felt like he could maybe, sort of breathe. This was a normal, positive part of his routine, going to Decathlon. The little things. He was going to enjoy it and try to focus, and if his mind kept drifting back to the feeling of kissing Tony, well, that would be two good things to come out of today.    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> All comments are appreciated <3 seriously guys was the kiss scene okay i need validation
> 
>  
> 
> Tumblr- Richieloveseds


	11. Flash Stays for Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter spends some time with Rhodey. Mary invites Flash to dinner. Peter makes an impulsive decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) enjoy!

Peter liked Rhodey.

He drank coffee in the afternoons. He had a schedule. He was organized. He wore blue sweaters and snacked on almonds and carrots. Peter respected that.

It was his second real day at the internship. Tony was busy the second Peter arrived. At first, he went to a formal meeting, and right when he came back, retreated to his office to take a business call. That was an hour ago. Rhodey was kind enough to include Peter, going through his typical day with him tagging along.

They just finished moving a piece of meteorite from the astronomy room to the back entrance, where an old man was waiting with a sketchy white van and a clipboard with tons of paperwork to borrow it for some exhibit in his museum. Now, as Rhodey was catching up on emails, Peter perched on a stool close by, _Lolita_ opened in his hands.

He was on the fifth chapter. Usually, when he read, Peter wanted to enjoy the words, but because of Flash, he held a certain vendetta against this book. Lolita had yet to be introduced and the main character, Humbert, was knee-deep delving into his past, and so far, Peter wasn’t impressed.

“Interesting choice.” Rhodey noted amicably enough, but Peter couldn’t help but overanalyze his expression. Rhodey and Tony were best friends, right? So, essentially, Rhodey was to Tony what Ned was to Peter. And Ned knew practically everything about the Tony and Peter situation, so was it dramatic to assume that Rhodey might know, too?

“It’s for school.” Peter closed the book as Rhodey scribbled something down in his calendar.

“Ah.” Rhodey took a sip from his mug. “I thought it was one of yours. Tony mentioned you like to read.”

He said that? Tony was talking about him?

“He did?” Peter tried his best not to sound like an excited puppy, but it was so hard. Either way, Rhodey remained appearing oblivious, not one inch of his face changing as he dug a hand into his Ziploc bag of almonds. Tony talking about him…that was a good thing, right? Peter had mixed feelings. On one hand, it was obviously for the best if Rhodey didn’t know anything happened between them. But, on the other hand…Peter liked the idea of Tony telling his best friend about him. He liked it a lot.

“Uh-huh.” Rhodey popped an almond in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “When I was in school around your age, I had this teacher named Ms. Fisher. You could say that she was…unhealthily enamored with _Lord of the Flies_. While all the other English teachers made their students spend a few weeks studying it, we had to spend nearly the whole year on it. I have no idea how she got away with that, but to this day, I still know that book like the back of my hand.”

“Who’s your favorite character?” Peter asked without really thinking about it. He was moderately curious. Rhodey seemed intrigued by his question, pursing his lips and humming thoughtfully.

“Piggy.”

“Intellect and reason.” And _loyalty_.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Rhodey grinned curiously. “Who’s yours?”

“Simon.”

“Maturity and goodness.” Rhodey nodded. “I can see it. Funny how that works.”

Maybe he did resonate with Simon. Peter wondered who Tony’s favorite character was.

“Alright, enough with this English talk.” Rhodey shot Peter an amicable smile and zipped up his bag of almonds. “Let’s get back to work. I forgot; I was going to show you the new model for this interactive site I’m working on.” 

“Okay.” Peter was leaning over to reach for his backpack when he heard his ID fall out of his pocket and hit the ground. He moved to pick it up, but Rhodey was quicker, and as he was handing it back to Peter, he paused, eyes widening.

“Tony gave you unlimited access?” Rhodey moved it closer to his face, inspecting the card in disbelief. It was safe to say he looked completely shocked, and could Peter really blame him? No, because _of course_ , it was weird.

It was so obvious what Rhodey was thinking-wondering why the fuck would Tony give some kid he barely knew full access to the museum at any and all hours? His surprise just showed exactly how out of character this sort of thing was from Tony and that made it so much worse.

“Uh-I-I think so.” Peter tried to play nonchalance with an indifferent tone, but he could tell it wasn’t working. Rhodey was still frowning, still confused, still very much surprised, and fuck, how could Peter fix this? Why couldn’t he think on the spot?

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. The door of Tony’s office flung open and he strutted through.

“Well, that was a solid hour of my life I will never get back.”

God, he looked so handsome in his suit. The blazer was a sleek, spotless gray, framing his broad shoulders beautifully. The white collared shirt underneath was paired with a dark red silky tie (which, yes, was now Peter’s favorite color). If he didn’t know any better, Peter would easily believe Tony was just about to step out on the red carpet. It wouldn’t take much (any) convincing.   

He reached over to ruffle Peter’s hair, which made him practically purr in delight. “You been good, kid?”

_Yes, so good, missed you, please don’t stop touching me._

“I didn’t realize your protégé had the key to the castle.” Rhodey folded his arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation. Tony, as usual, was quick to provide one.

“Well, of course he does, Rhodey.”  Tony’s left arm wrapped around Peter’s back, fingers resting against his shoulder blade. “I understand your apprehension, though. I mean, look at him.” With his right hand, he pointed towards Peter’s face. “We’re really rolling the dice on this one. But don’t worry; I’m sure his biker gang will put everything back where they found it by opening time. Isn’t that right, kid?”

Peter broke out in laughter and even Rhodey couldn’t hide his grin. He seemed appeased enough with the joking answer at least to drop the subject for now as he took another sip from his mug.

“Alright, I have kept you longer than I should have today.” Tony said, glancing at his watch. “You ready to go?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony!” Rhodey scolded suddenly, causing Tony’s gaze to leave Peter’s (sad) and go to his friend’s. In the same moment, Peter didn’t miss the way Tony’s hands dropped back down to his sides, no longer touching him. “Tell me you don’t make him call you ‘Mr. Stark’.”

“I do not!” Tony turned to Peter, and yeah, he definitely caught Peter checking him out with full elevator eyes. Peter quickly flickered his eyes back up to Tony’s, simultaneously doing his best to control his soon-to-be-blush. He could’ve sworn he saw the tiniest of smirks flit across Tony’s lips, but it vanished as fast as it came.

“Peter,” Tony began pointedly, “you do not have to call me ‘Mr. Stark’. You know that, right?”

Wait, what was going on? Peter clearly did not register the first part of this conversation.

“What do you want me to call you?” Peter blinked up at him, perplexed. Tony’s Adam’s apple caught his attention as he swallowed hard. Peter wanted to lick his throat. Shit, he was getting distracted again. Why did Tony have to torture him by wearing a suit? Was this going to be an everyday thing? Because, if so, Peter might have to start taking longer and more frequent bathroom breaks to jerk off. For health purposes. Obviously.

“Tony.” He offered. “You’re allowed to call me ‘Tony’.”

“Tony.” Peter tested experimentally, and it really shouldn’t have been as weird as it was. Peter said ‘Tony’ all the time. Whenever he was referring to the man, he scarcely ever called him ‘Mr. Stark’, and in his thoughts, it was always _Tony_ , _Tony_ , _Tony_. But saying it _to_ him felt different. Like they were complete equals. He liked it, but he liked ‘Mr. Stark’, too.

“Good.” Peter didn’t miss the subtle approving pat on his shoulder as Tony complimented him. “Are you happy now, Rhodey?”

Oh, right, Rhodey was here, too.

“Yeah, _super_ happy.” He replied sarcastically. “So, are you going to give him a treat now, too?”

“Don’t listen to him, Peter.” Tony rolled his eyes fondly. “He’s just jealous because you’re my intern and not his.”

 _Yours, yours, yours_.

“God, get out of here!” Rhodey laughed, tossing an almond at him.

“That’s our cue.” Tony led Peter towards the door. “When he runs out of almonds, he goes for the carrots, which are significantly more painful than they look. Let’s get you home before you get an injury.”

 

*

 

“You’re not even trying!” Flash complained, yet again, for probably the sixty-seventh time since he arrived at Peter’s apartment an hour ago. Really, Peter should start keeping count. There had to be some kind of award or record Flash could win.

“We’re only on the fifth chapter. The plot hasn’t started to develop yet.” Peter protested, waving the book in his hand in frustration. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”   

“The guy’s name is Humbert Humbert. We don’t need an in-depth analysis of the plot to solve that mystery.” Flash insisted as he flipped through the pages. “Honestly, I have no idea how you beat me in the critical thinking section of the SAT over the summer.”

“That makes two of us.” Peter mumbled. He was a yawning mess during the SAT due to a complete lack of sleep, so it was shocking he did well at all.

“Hey, wait.” Flash furrowed his eyebrows. “What you just said, ‘two of us’. We already know Humbert’s childhood crush dies and he sees her projected in other young girls as he ages. Going from Annabel to Lolita and being infatuated with them as if they were the same person. What would you say that sounds like?”

“Hmm…” Peter chewed on his bottom lip. “That there’s monotony? Like they’re twins or doubles or something.”

“Doubles, exactly! Just like his name.” Flash excitedly wrote in his notebook. “Okay, so we should look for more identical comparisons as we keep reading between other characters.” Flash peered over at Peter’s binder in his lap. “Do you need for me to write that down for you?”

Peter tried not to roll his eyes. “I think I can manage, thanks.”

“Okay, we’re far enough in the book to start the writing style essay.”

Right, one of the _many_ essays that were to come. Why did Mr. White have to be the hardest Honors English teacher in their grade?

“Fine, I guess we can-” A light knock at Peter’s door cut him off. “It’s open!” He called.

“Hey, honey.” Mary greeted as she stepped into his bedroom. “Dinner will be ready in five. Flash, you are more than welcome to stay and eat with us if you’d like.”

Right. Like that was likely.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Flash said, making Peter’s eyes go wide. He never considered Flash would actually take her up on it. And yet, here he was, giving her his classic job interview schmoozer grin.

“Nonsense. I made plenty. Enough for four people easily.”

For _four?_ There cued a red flag in Peter’s head. Four as in-Tony was coming?

No, no, no. Flash and Tony at the same dinner together? There would be bloodshed.

“You’re certain it’s okay with you?” Flash checked, cordial and beaming and so full of shit. He could get any adult to like him and it was so unbelievably bizarre.

“Yes, of course. We’d be happy to have you.” Mary said. “As long as your parents are okay with it.”

“I think they’re in Prague right now, actually.”

Prague?

“Oh. Well, as long as if whoever is looking after you knows, then it’s alright with me.”

“Hey, Mom?” Peter hated to interrupt their little chat, but this was urgent. “Is uh, Mr. Stark coming for dinner, too?”

Mary’s smile wiped away completely.

“No. He’s not.”

Peter, surprised by the harsh reaction, searched her expression. Did they get into a fight? Come to think of it, it had been a long time since Peter saw Mary and Tony together. It had been…wow, it had been before Mary left for the wedding. How did Peter miss that?

“Well,” Flash clasped his hands together, “You know what they say; the fewer, the better fare.”

“I thought it was the more the merrier?” Peter questioned.

“Well, not tonight.” Mary smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Except for you, Flash.”

“Thanks, Ms. Parker.”

As soon as Mary closed the door and Peter heard a few retreating footsteps, he turned to Flash with a glare.

“Forgive me, Parker, but I can hardly see how it’s my fault that you’ve never heard the full idiom.”

“You know I’m not talking about that.”

“What? Was I just supposed to say no to coming for dinner?” Peter sensed the warning signs of a hurt Flash, so he backpedaled.

“No.” Peter hesitated. “I just didn’t know you would have wanted to stay. I would have offered if I knew you wanted to, but we have to set some ground rules here.”

“Ground rules?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Yes!” Peter insisted. “Ground rules. Like, no talking about Tony, and you can’t bring up _Lolita_ , either. I’m serious. This is important.”

“Okay, okay.” Flash relented. “I won’t bring up the book. Or how her boyfriend should probably be on a registered sex offender list.” He said and pushed his binders in his backpack. “Chill, Parker. What are you so scared of, anyway? It’s just dinner.”

 

*

 

“So, Flash,” Mary smiled politely from across the table, “you mentioned your parents are in Prague? That sounds amazing.”

“Prague or Copenhagen.” Flash inspected his silverware distractedly, twirling a fork between nimble fingers. “Maybe Marseille.” He stabbed at a brussels sprout with his fork before shrugging with indifference. “Fairly sure it was somewhere in Europe.”

“Oh.” Mary remarked, obviously taken aback. She was hardly ever a controlling parent, but Peter knew there was no way she would leave the country-let alone, the city, without going through the entire itinerary with Peter at least three times.

Peter stilled in his chair, too. He was aware Flash’s parents traveled across the country, but he definitely didn’t recall Flash mentioning they were currently out of the United States.

Flash seemed to be either oblivious to or unbothered by the change of atmosphere in the room.  “How long have they been gone?” Mary asked (pried).

“A week or two.”

What the fuck?

Flash’s parents had been out of the country for that long and Peter had no idea? Why didn’t he know that? Why didn’t Flash tell him? Why didn’t he ask?

Mary subtly threw Peter a worried glance, and Peter just knew she was going to ask more, and no, that could abso-fucking-lutely not happen.

Because if Mary said something with a pinch of too much judgment, well, Peter wasn’t sure Flash would make a grand effort to show restraint in whatever retort came to mind. Because even though Flash would rather eat a bullet than admit it, he was sensitive. When someone said something just a tad too personal, he would bite back hard. Any sort of negative opinions weren’t opinions; they were attacks on his character. What made it worse was that when Flash felt offended, his immediate defense was to attack. He was like a really temperamental animal, that yeah, things were all fun and games for a while, but the second you petted him in the wrong way, he would not hesitate to go for the throat.

Peter was not ready to hear what he might attack with right now if he felt too provoked. Not today, Satan.

Of all the topics in the world, Peter could only think of one on the spot to change the subject. “We’re working on a book project for our English class.”

He could’ve talked about Decathlon.

Peter felt Flash’s gaze burning into his skull.

Or literally any of his other classes. Any of those would’ve been a great conversation starter.

“Oh, how’s it going?”

 “It’s good. It isn’t due for a couple of months, so we have a long time to work on it.”

“That’s nice. Oh! I haven’t got around to asking. How’s your internship going?”

“Internship?” Flash snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes at Peter competitively. “You’re doing an internship?”

Fuck.

“Did Peter not tell you?” Mary beamed proudly, unintentionally making Peter’s stomach churn. Why was he the literal worst person on the planet? “It’s recent, but Peter has begun working as an intern for Tony at a museum.”

Flash froze completely still.

Shit damn fuck. Fuck. Shit.

When Flash reached for his glass, Peter was convinced he was going to give a sarcastic toast to Peter for being a complete and utter asshole. Peter silently pleaded with him, cringing ever so slightly to brace himself as if Flash was going to hit him. But instead of raising the cup, he took a sip. 

“The plot thickens.” Flash mumbled into his glass. Mary frowned slightly, most likely confused by the random (that completely wasn’t random at all) comment that didn’t correlate with the conversation at all (except for the fact that it totally, absolutely did). Peter was already opening his mouth, ready to jump in with whatever odd detail about the internship he had at hand-like Rhodey’s blue sweaters, or the thing about his coffee, maybe even the comment he made about books earlier that day, but before he could, the doorbell rang.

God was real and loved Peter. This was now officially confirmed and he didn’t deserve this deus ex machina, but damn, was he willing to take it.

Peter moved to get up to answer the door, fully prepared to heavily tip whichever girl scout was trying to sell cookies at their apartment, but Mary stopped him with a wave of her hand, and beckoned him to sit down.

“I’ll get it, honey.”

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Peter turned back to glare at Flash.

“That was not my fault.” Flash fired quickly, defensive as usual.

Peter scoffed. Oh, so that’s what was happening right now. Flash was the one who had the right to be upset. Okay, Peter was glad they were on the same page. 

“You promised you wouldn’t talk about any of it.”

“Hey, I said I wouldn’t bring it up and I didn’t!” Flash leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest, chin tilted up defiantly. “I was completely comfortable chatting about my asshole parents. You’re the one who _had_ to talk about the book project.”

“It was the only thing I could think of.” Peter pushed around a piece of chicken with his fork. So, not only was Flash completely aware of the atmosphere during the talk about his parents, he also thought they were assholes.

“And the internship? Really, Parker?” Flash shook his head disapprovingly. “Hooking up with him at your own house isn’t enough? How do you not see how fucked up this is? Not only are you compromising being a moral human being, but you’re getting points on your resumé to do it, too?”

“Once again, you don’t know anything about it.” Peter seethed. “Because there’s nothing to know about. There’s nothing going on.”

“Like either of us believe that.” Flash let out a humorless laugh. “You know, frankly, at this point, it’s just insulting to my intelligence that you keep trying to convince me otherwise.”

Right, because God forbid anyone insulted Flash’s intelligence.

“Look,” Peter sighed. “My mom is going to come back any second, and I don’t want her to hear us arguing, especially not about this.”

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Your parents.” Peter admitted. “You never mentioned they were in Prague, or wherever.”

Peter knew they had this rivalry thing going, but they were also kind of friends, maybe? That part was confusing, but they were definitely at the point of closeness where Flash should be telling him if his parents were leaving for two weeks.  

“I didn’t think it was important.” Flash tilted his head at Peter inquisitively. “You’re offended.”

“No.” Peter denied instinctively. “Well, kind of.” Flash tapped his fingers on the table, impatiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. “I mean, I just thought you would have told me something like that.”

“Parker, they’re gone quite frequently. I just didn’t consider it to be eventful news.”

There was a long pause of silence and then Flash sighed defeatedly. “I can bring it up next time, if you want.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you think your mom has been gone for a while?” Flash glanced to the door of the kitchen. How long had they been talking?

“I’ll check on her.” Peter said, standing up. “Stay here, okay?”

“If you aren’t back in five minutes, I will call the police.” Without being entirely sure if Flash was joking or not, Peter walked out of the kitchen.

Before Peter saw Tony, he heard his voice. It was hushed, low and serious. Tony? Mary stood wedged between the partially opened door, blocking Tony’s body from his view as he stood in the hallway. Peter couldn’t stop the initial rush of excitement from seeing him. _Tony’s here! Tony’s here! Tony’s here!_ His mind raced like a fucking golden retriever for a solid five seconds before Peter got his shit together and his brain started functioning somewhat normally. Mary and Tony’s voices murmured together and he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Peter could tell from their tones, that it wasn’t positive.

Oh, shit.

They were arguing. Peter took a few tentative steps closer.

“That’s not what I said.” Peter could make out Tony’s voice. “I’m just trying to explain.”

“You think I’m asking for a lot? This is the bare minimum!” Peter knew Mary was struggling to not raise her voice. His mother was notorious for yelling when she was upset. She probably didn’t want Peter to hear, so she was making an attempt to keep it softer than usual.

“I never said that. Mary, you’re twisting my words.”

“I was gone all weekend and you didn’t call or text me once. I’ve been back for almost a week and you haven’t returned my calls or made any effort to talk to me. You drop my kid off and don’t even bother to come in and say hello. Tony, what am I supposed to think? Just tell me who you are spending all your time thinking about because it’s clearly not me.”

Oh, fuck. Peter should leave. He shouldn’t be standing here, eavesdropping. He was about to take a step back when Tony’s eyes slipped to Peter and he froze.

“Peter.” He cleared his throat and Mary whipped around. “Hey.”  

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but Peter was already stumbling with an apology, taking steps back, the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. “Uh, hey. I am so sorry; I didn’t mean to-”

“Peter!” An suddenly an arm was coiling around him and Flash was by his side. “I told you not to interrupt the adults while they were talking.”

“Uh, I-uh.” Peter blinked rapidly, trying to process what the fuck was happening. One look at Tony and-oh fuck, his eyes were glued on Flash and Flash’s hand touching Peter, and oh, no, no, no, what did Peter do to deserve this? Clearly, he was wrong about the God loving him thing from before. This was revenge for Peter asking for a cup of water at Chipotle and putting a little bit of lemonade in it. That, or for kissing his mom’s boyfriend.

“Sorry, Ms. Parker.” Flash shined a bright smile in her direction before regarding Tony. “Mr. Stark, _so_ good to see you again.” He slipped his hand down Peter’s shoulder to his wrist. “Come on, Peter.” He tugged him a bit forcefully, causing Peter to break his balance and get pulled closer to Flash.

It all happened too fast for Peter to resist. Flash pulled him out the room within seconds and all Peter could think to do was look at Tony, who, well…he didn’t look happy.

In the kitchen, Flash took his hand off Peter’s wrist before he could swat it off.

“Why did you have to come out there?” Peter demanded. “I told you to wait for five minutes.”

“Why is he even here?” Flash ignored him and glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Does he, like, have a tracker on you or something?”

“Five minutes!”

“Tracker!”

“Jesus Christ.” Peter threw his head back in exasperation and rubbed his eyes.

“You know, that’s not a bad start.” Flash leaned against the counter and took out his phone. “I can find a decent priest near you.”

“Ugh!” Peter groaned. “You are not making things easier for me.” He peeked at Flash through his fingers. “You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Dreadfully.” Flash deadpanned. “Making things easy for you isn’t my job, Parker.” Flash sauntered towards the dining table, grabbed his cup, and took a few gulps of water. “Maybe I wanted to piss him off.” He admitted, wiping the back of his sleeve against his lips. “It’s not exactly a secret that Humbert doesn’t like me.”

“This whole _Lolita_ comparison is getting old.”

“Please, it’s barely started.”

“Flash, I don’t feel like arguing about Tony right now. I know you don’t like him and he doesn’t like you, but can you hold off until tomorrow? Please?”

Given his long pause, Flash seemed to have debated this thoroughly in his head.

“Fine, but only because I have a psychology test I have to study for.”

Of course. Why else would he give Peter a break?

 

*

 

Peter stared at Tony’s contact in his phone.

One tap. That was all it took. Peter made several hundred taps on his phone per day. This was nothing. He could just click the little phone icon, and he’d be connected to Tony, talking to him like he was right there in the room with him. Somehow, Peter forgot the purpose of phone calls.

After five minutes of hyping himself up, Peter called him.

He didn’t pick up.

It was late. How could he expect him to, really?

Okay…That was okay. He’d just talk to him tomorrow. Yeah.

 

Peter cut off his light and stumbled to the bed in the dark, tripping over a discarded book lying on the ground. _Lolita_ , probably. Ugh. Peter was going to burn that fucking book when their project was finally over. He wiggled under the covers and turned on his side, pulling the blanket close to his chest.

 _Relax_.

He nestled his cheek against the pillow and released a stressed breath. Peter willed himself to close his eyes.

_Just tell me who you are spending all your time thinking about because it’s clearly not me._

And then Flash had to show up in the conversation. Every word, every single action was done for a specific reason. Flash referring to them as adults only served to create a barrier between Mary and Tony and Peter and Flash. Who taught him how to do that, anyway?

He couldn’t get Tony’s facial expression out of his head. He just let Flash drag him off stage. Peter didn’t say goodbye to Tony or give any sort of explanation. The idea of Tony upset completely threw away the option of Peter being able to fall asleep.

Fuck it.

Listening to the ringing of his phone wasn’t enough. Peter needed to see him, and maybe Tony needed to see Peter, too. If there was a chance Peter could cure his distress like Tony always did for him, he was going to take it. With that thought in his head, Peter tossed off his blankets and grabbed a hoodie from the closet. With one final glance at his ID card, Peter stuffed it in his pocket and quietly crept out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all comments are very, very appreciated. Please let me know what you liked!
> 
> Tumblr-richieloveseds


	12. Tony Gives In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter sneaks out to visit Tony at the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD MIDTERMS IM SORRY. For your patience, this is a very starker heavy chapter. Like literally just them. and Carl. 
> 
>  
> 
> I won't spoil anything but be sure you check the tags before you read and make sure you're comfortable with everything. 
> 
> (Also im so sorry to that anon who i said i would be updating on Sunday, or Monday at the latest) (and to everyone else who's been waiting)
> 
> Enjoy!

The museum looked different at night. Kind of like a haunted mansion.

Peter dug his icy hands in his pockets as he made his way through the front parking lot. 

When he saw his breath in the air, Peter decided that he really did underestimate the cold. He remembered hearing from someone this winter was supposed to be cold, but he definitely did not prepare for the tips of his ears to be freezing.  

As he made his way closer to the entrance, Peter paused to look at the fountain. He’d never seen it at night before. Lit up, it appeared bigger than usual. Without really thinking, Peter patted his pockets for spare change, to see if he had a penny to make a wish. When he didn’t come up with anything, Peter made his way to the door of the museum.

 

As Peter took out his wallet, he half-expected his key card not to work. Not because Tony wouldn’t have let him come in at night, but because he was worried he would do it wrong. Peter never had to use the card key on the outside door before because he only came here during the day, when the door was always unlocked. Luckily, he wasn’t entirely incompetent and with a flick of the ID card, a flash of a green light appeared, signaling the door unlocking. Excitement ran down his spine as he reached to grab the door handle before it timed out.

Peter couldn’t even rejoice in the warmth of indoors because as soon as he stepped into the lobby, sharp brightness shot onto his face, blinding his eyes. Instinctively, he winced and reached an arm up to shield himself from the intensity of the flashlight. 

“ID, son. Give me your ID.” A gruff voice ordered, one Peter was unfamiliar with. With squinty eyes, Peter rifled through his pocket and took out his card, holding it out in front of what he hoped was the night guard’s face.

“Oh. Mr. Parker.” The man clicked his flashlight off. Peter blinked frantically, trying to regain his sight. The man in front of him slowly came into view. He was tall and largely built, with no hair on his head, and had dark, bushy eyebrows and a beard. He wasn’t dressed in the stereotypical guard outfit, but instead, had on jeans and a plain black tee shirt. In fact, the only thing that distinguished him as a night guard and not any other person on the street was the flashlight in his hand and a large set of keys clipped one of the loops on the waist of his jeans.

It was a taste he wasn’t expecting, like taking a sip of coffee just to find out it was a hot chocolate instead. Not bad; not unpleasant, but surprising.

“Sorry about that.” The man shifted in his stance, the movement making his keys jingle softly against his thigh. “Mr. Stark told me you might be coming around, but that was a while ago. I figured when you didn’t, you weren’t going to.”

“Oh.” Peter offered a nervous smile, surprised at the man’s change of tone and careful explanation. “It’s-uh, it’s okay.”

As they stood for a brief moment in silence, Peter could see a question mark beginning to form in his head. He was probably wondering what a teenage boy was doing visiting a museum in the dead hours of a Monday night. Peter was sort of wondering that, too.

But, no. Tony. Where was Tony? He had to see Tony.

His eyes darted towards the back, where he knew Tony’s office was and Peter felt a twinge of uncertainty. What if Tony wasn’t here? For the majority of his quest up until now, he had been running on adrenaline and desperation, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Peter’s glance must have not been subtle because the night guard commented only a second later.

“Mr. Stark came in a few hours ago. I didn’t see him leave, so he’s probably still here.”

His first instinct was to breathe out a sigh of relief. Thank God Tony was here. His trip hadn’t been for nothing. But wait. Tony had been here for _hours_? Peter should have come sooner.

He rushed out a quick “thank you” before heading in the direction of his office.

When Peter walked in, Tony was hunched over his desk, scribbling with a pen. The brass desk lamp was on, illuminating whatever he was working on. Peter took a tentative step into the room, giving it a survey to make sure no one else was there.  

“Mr. Stark?”

When Tony turned around, the first thing Peter was struck with was the realization that this was the first time seeing Tony in the office when he wasn’t wearing anything remotely formal. Instead, he had on a Black Sabbath t-shirt and dark-wash jeans. What the actual fuck? Peter was never going to understand how Tony Stark managed to pull off any type of look and so effortlessly, too.

To say Tony looked surprised to see him was an understatement.

“Peter?” He stood up and approached him, shock etched on his face. “It’s almost three in the morning. What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up.” That was about all Peter could remember of the speech he practiced on the way over.

“Fuck, Peter. You’re freezing.” Tony frowned disapprovingly, feeling the sleeve’s fabric between his fingers. “Is this thin sweatshirt all you brought?”

Peter winced apologetically. He should have thought of that. He knew how Tony felt about him being out in the cold without enough to keep him warm.

With a frown, Tony walked to a closet Peter didn’t know existed and pulled out a dark blue wool coat.

“Put this on.”

“Thank you.” Peter blushed, delicately sliding his arms through the sleeves. Embarrassingly, the blazer was much bigger on him than it probably was on Tony. Tony, who probably looked amazing when he was wearing it. Well, duh. Tony could pull off a fucking trash bag.

Peter tried to stretch his arms all the way out in the most subtle way possible, but the cuffs still rested on his palms. Why did he have to be so _tiny_? It was such a contrast to the man standing in front of him. Tony was toned. His arms were fucking Hercules’s compared to Peter’s twigs. It was pathetic.

 “It’s freezing outside.” Tony’s glare had Peter lowering his head guiltily within seconds.

“I’m sorry.” Peter apologized again. “I just-” Fumbling. “I was in a rush. I-I don’t know.” More fumbling. “I wanted to see you.”

That earned him a soft smile, at least for a moment, which was long enough for Peter to know that Tony was happy to see him, that he had done something right by coming. The relief in Peter’s eyes must have been too premature because Tony’s smile wiped away, becoming replaced with admonishment only a second later.

To make it worse, Tony took a step back so that he was farther away from him. Peter fought the urge to follow his steps and close the long distance between them.

“If Mary wakes up and you’re not there, she’s going to lose her mind.”

“It’s three in the morning. She won’t wake up.”

Peter had enough sleepless nights rummaging around the kitchen, accidentally knocking things over to know that his mom was a heavy sleeper. If, by some bizarre circumstance she did wake up, she was more likely to roll over on her other side than get up and check on Peter, anyway.

“You have school tomorrow.”

“You know that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway.” Peter persisted. They were valid points Tony was making, sure, but all Peter could hear was a string of excuses. He was here. Tony was here. Couldn’t they leave it at that?

“Peter…”

He had to act fast. Peter wasn’t quick like Tony. He wasn’t as good as thinking on his toes.

“Your night guard is nice.”

It was stupid. A dumb, irrelevant statement that had nothing to do with anything. He just needed  Tony to ignore why Peter shouldn’t be here for two seconds.

 “You met Carl?” Tony was anything but idiotic. He had to have known what Peter was doing.

“Yeah, when I came in. He doesn’t look like the other guards.” Peter continued hastily. He didn’t want to get the guard in trouble if he wasn’t wearing his uniform, but he did mention seeing Tony earlier in the night, so Peter proceeded. And if he was, well sorry, Carl, but Peter desperately needed a change in subject. “He doesn’t wear what the other guards do during the day.”

 “He can wear what he wants. No customers see him, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter if he looks professional.”

“That’s nice of you.”

Another reason Tony Stark was a fucking gem. Peter had to add it to the list.

“Kid.” Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It appeared the distraction had faded. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Absolutely anything that he wanted. That was what Peter wanted to say, but, well, he was still treading on thin ice.

“Let me stay. Please. Just for a little while.”

“Twenty minutes.” Tony relented, plopping himself in a chair. He pointed a finger at Peter determinedly. “And then I’m taking you home.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” Peter could work with that. He perched himself on a stool across from Tony.

“What made you come tonight, anyway?”

When it came down to it, there was only one real reason.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Peter said softly as he played with his hands in his lap.

“Of course you did.” Tony muttered. “Well, I appreciate it, but you can go home and sleep, kid, because I assure you I am completely fine.”

“Okay.”

Peter didn’t move from his spot on the stool.

They stared at each other in silence, Tony probably half-expecting him to get up and go, and Peter waiting for Tony to speak again. After a couple of minutes of shared stubbornness, Tony broke the silence.

“So, how much did you hear?”

“A good amount.” Peter admitted. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Flash just-” Tony’s jaw clenched at the name causing Peter to backpedal quickly. “I just-I didn’t know you would be fighting.”

“To be fair, everything she said was true.” Tony rubbed his eyes exhaustedly. “I know that it’s all my fault, but I just can’t make myself care the way that I should. I just can’t.”

Peter didn’t have to ask why. They both knew.

Tony shook his head and his gaze went distant, like he was remembering something. His face fell into his hands and for a panicked second, Peter thought he was crying. But Tony’s hands dropped a moment later and he leaned back into his chair. His eyes showed no signs of tears or glossiness, but they were murky with distress, which worried Peter considerably.

“Let’s talk about something else.” Tony suggested.   

So, they did. They talked like they did when they were working. Science and random chatter. It was such an easy dynamic to fall into with Tony. It calmed Peter down and Peter could tell by watching the tension gradually leaving his shoulders and hearing how the edge to his voice faded that it had the same effect on Tony. It was like their own recalibration.

It was after some time when Peter decided to bring it up.  

“I’m sorry about Flash.”

Tony’s eyes darkened at the name.

“He was touching you.”

“I know.”

“If that little asshole lays a finger on you again, I will rip his fucking arm off. No one gets to touch you like that. He looks at you like you belong to him.”

Tony opened his mouth to say more but seemed to remember himself at the last second and stilled. Peter watched, enthralled, as his jaw twitched when Tony clenched his teeth in aggravation. He cursed to himself.

“Peter, I want to do the right thing. I’m _trying_ to do the right thing. And once I think I’ve got a little bit of a grip on it, you show up here when I’m not expecting it, when I’m not prepared to…” Tony trailed off and Peter was left guessing.

Prepared to what? Deal with him? Reject him? Push him away?

“Look,” Tony continued tightly, “he is your class partner. You can spend as much time with him as you want.”

Could he just stop?

“Please.” Peter pleaded. “Just tell me what you’re really thinking.”

“I’m thinking that I don’t want to fuck up your life. That I don’t want you to look back one day and hate me for letting this happen. I’m thinking that I don’t want to hurt you.”

Peter was just about to assure him that he could never hurt him, that he was old enough to make his own decisions when Tony jumped out of his seat like it was on fire.

“Shit!”

“What? What happened?” Peter whipped his head from side to side, searching for the source of Tony’s alarm.

“It’s five o’clock.” Tony grabbed his jacket hanging from the back of his chair. “We’ve been talking for two hours.”

“Really?” Peter plucked his phone from his jeans. 5:09 AM. Wow. It felt like half an hour at most.

“Yes. Come on, I have to take you home.”

When they exited through the entrance doors, the sky was still as dark outside as it was when Peter arrived. It was hard to believe the sun was going to rise in just an hour. The last time Peter pulled an all-nighter was four years ago with Ned. They had read somewhere that people who were sleep-deprived enough would hallucinate. Naturally, they put it to the test and stayed up until eight in the morning bingeing all of the Harry Potter movies (ironically, which was another thing on their bucket list). They didn’t achieve either though, unfortunately, and fell asleep minutes through the second scene of the _Deathly Hallows Part One_ all without having had hallucinated anything.

As they walked past the fountain, Peter wondered what Ned would think about Peter being here right now with Tony. He’d probably be thrilled for him.

Maybe it was the cool air making Peter ignore his exhaustion or maybe it was spending so much time alone with Tony. Either way, to get some more time with Tony, he could forget about the fact that he hadn’t slept in well past 30 hours. Tony, however, could not.  
“What about school tomorrow? You’re only going to get two and a half hours of sleep.” Peter didn’t have to look at him to hear the disapproving frown in his voice.

“Well, what about work?” Peter retorted. “So are you.”

Tony only shrugged and proceeded to switch the subject back to Peter.

“Usually, I wouldn’t condone you skipping class, but tomorrow, I think you should. You need to sleep in.”

“And risk my perfect attendance record?” Peter scoffed, turning to look at Tony just in time to see him roll his eyes fondly.

“It’s concerning how you’re acting more like me every day, you know. Even Rhodey has noticed.”

“He has?” A warm rush of flattery landed in Peter’s stomach.

“Yeah.” Tony chuckled. “Just yesterday, he called you a mini version of me.”

Yeah, Peter was going to have to drill Rhodey for details the next time he saw him.

“Well, tell him I said thanks.” Peter beamed.

“Don’t get too excited. I don’t know if he meant is as a compliment, kid.”

“Being compared to you?” Peter kicked a stray rock across the pavement. “Of course it’s a compliment.” It was a _big_ compliment. A successful, smart, handsome, witty, kind-hearted person like Tony? How could that possibly be an insult?

Right then, Peter spotted Tony’s car tucked from view behind a tree.

“Why did you park there?” Peter asked curiously, turning back to look at Tony.

“Sorry, what?” Tony blinked as if he had been caught daydreaming.

“You never park there.” Peter gestured to the Audi.

“Oh.” Tony’s eyes filled with comprehension and he shrugged. “Guess I felt like doing something different.”

As they got in the car, Peter realized he had actually missed being in it, even though it hadn’t been long at all. After Tony turned on the ignition, instead of reaching for the gear, he paused. Peter instinctively checked to see if his seatbelt was on. When he saw that he was, in fact, buckled up, Peter furrowed his eyebrows at him. Tony opened his mouth to speak before closing it, just to turn to Peter and open it again.

“I actually got you something.” He started slowly. “I was going to give it to you when I picked you up from school on Wednesday, but now that you’re here…” Tony angled his body towards the backseat. As he reached his arms out to fish for something in the back, the scoop of his t-shirt lowered, revealing more of his chest than Peter had ever seen. He could only drool for a second at the stretch of warm skin before Tony found what he was looking for and turned back with a Neiman Marcus shopping bag in his hands.

Peter tilted his head curiously and met Tony’s eyes with confusion.

“Here. Let me know if you like it.” Tony said, almost nervously, as he set the bag on Peter’s lap. Tony was nervous? Wait, what was going on? Peter looked down at the gray bag and then glanced at Tony, who gave him a nod. Peter obediently slipped his fingers in the bag, past the tissue paper, and pulled out what was inside, his eyes doubling in size as he realized what it was.

“You bought me a jacket?” Peter couldn’t hide his surprise if he wanted to.

A black puffer jacket. It looked warm and comfortable and so…Peter.

“Yes. Do you like it?”

Tony went into a clothing store. Tony physically walked into a clothing store, a _nice_ clothing store, specifically seeking a jacket for Peter. And after looking through jackets, he picked this one out took it to the cash register and paid for it with his own money. Just because he wanted Peter to have it. To stay warm. Jesus Christ.

Peter traced his finger over the fine stitching of the jacket in awe. It felt expensive. Too expensive.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you another color or style.” Tony waved his hand nonchalantly. “Whatever you want. I don’t care as long as you _wear it_.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Peter shook his head incessantly. “I love it.” And he really did. It was nice but casual, so he could wear it anywhere. The jacket was something Peter would pick out himself. Tony clearly purchased it with Peter’s taste in mind and that realization made his heart flip.

“It’s just too much. Too nice. I can’t take it.”

“Peter,” Tony’s voice was light but clipped, warning him that he shouldn’t argue. “I’m tired of seeing you freezing. Especially when I know there’s something I can do about it. Please take it. For anything because it would help me sleep better.”

Tony would sleep better knowing that Peter was warm. That thought alone was enough to heat Peter in a fucking blizzard.

“Can I pay you back, at least?”

A smile broke out on Tony’s face. “No.” He chuckled, his chocolate brown eyes filling to the brim with mirth. “You most certainly cannot pay me back. Don’t pout, sweetheart. Just consider it an early birthday present.”

Peter wanted to respond with something witty, but his entire thought process turned to “asdflghjkdfjikl” when Tony called him sweetheart.

“Why don’t you try it on? See if it fits.” Tony suggested, filling in the blanks. Peter smiled gratefully, positive he was blushing bright red as he wiggled his arms through the jacket.

“How does it look?” Peter asked with a giggle as he zipped it up. When he looked up at Tony, he was staring at him with a soft smile on his face.

“Perfect.” The sincerity in Tony’s voice is what did it.

It was hard to explain, but the atmosphere in the car shifted into what he could only describe as mellow slowness. The stillness reminded Peter of being in the cafeteria with Ned, where every so often, neither of them would be talking and the chatter around them would morph into a sort of white noise. But this was different. It was just Tony and him in his car, with the seat warmer nuzzled against Peter’s back because Tony knew he needed it, always knew what he needed. And the thing was Tony looked so handsome. His normally up hair was messier than usual, with a few tufts brushing lightly against his forehead, most likely from repeatedly running his fingers through it. His dark brown eyes were only a few shades less alert than usual as they focused on Peter’s. The only image Peter could compare him to was a lion, always regal and strong, even when he was sleep-deprived at five in the morning. And from there, it just kind of struck Peter that Tony was the most perfect man he had ever met. He was brilliant and funny and kind and he made Peter feel with intensity. Peter had never been in love before. This was the closest he’s ever gotten and if these emotions progressed even a fraction more than what he was feeling now, Peter genuinely doubted that he could ever want someone more than he wanted Tony. Maybe it was already too late. Everything Shakespeare wrote about was starting to make sense.

If destiny or writings in stars existed at all, then they existed to put them together. How could anyone tell him this was wrong? How could something so mortal like age be the problem if they were brought together by an ageless universe?

Peter found himself unbuckling and pressing his lips against Tony’s before he could give it more thought. He had never moved so fast in his fucking life. One second, he was in the passenger seat, the next, Peter was straddling Tony.

“Peter, this isn’t-no.” Tony gently pushed him back until Peter felt the steering wheel against his back. Tony’s eyes were wide and full of surprise. “I didn’t-Peter-I didn’t even think about-I didn’t buy it so you would-”

“I know.” Peter cut him off with another kiss before pulling back a few inches and meeting his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to.” He just _had_ to, really.

“Kid, this isn’t how this is supposed to go.” Tony said. “You’re supposed to find someone nice at your school, or at college, or someone who works part-time at a coffee shop you go to, who knows your order by heart and draws little hearts on your cup or something stupidly sweet like that. But me? Peter, who are we kidding? I’m not the person you’re supposed to be with.”  

“You saying that to me doesn’t change the way I feel about you.” Peter held his gaze. “Does it change the way you feel about me?”

Tony didn’t hesitate.

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” Peter persisted.

When he kissed him again, Tony reciprocated.  

While their first real kiss was softer and slower, this was insistent and needy (mostly on Peter’s part). Maybe it was the fact that they were in his car nearing sunrise in an empty parking lot. Or maybe it was all of the pent-up sexual urges he’d felt for way too fucking long. Or maybe it was just because he was straddling Tony fucking Stark. Whether it was one of them or all of them, Peter was the horniest he’d ever been in his entire life.   

“Fuck Peter, you have to stop.” Tony groaned, straining his hands to his sides in an attempt to not touch Peter.

He was so hard.

Peter fucking lost it when he grinded against Tony’s lap, and shockingly, not because Tony was hard, too. No, he lost it because he was achingly, painfully hard. This wasn’t a oh-his-dick-was-hard-and-kind-of-uncomfortable-in-his-pants-so-he’d-better-think-about-heading-home-and-jerking-off-when-he-got-a-chance type of situation; this was a holy-fuck-his-dick-was-hard-as-fuck-trapped-in-these-god-awful-tight-jeans-who-fucking-created-jeans-he-needed-to-get-them-off-of-his-body-this-fucking-second-right-now-fucking-burn-them-immediately type of situation, which Peter was drastically unfamiliar with and honestly, it scared him.

“Please. It hurts.” Peter’s voice cracked. “I don’t-I don’t know what to do.” This was officially the most pathetic moment of his life.

He was really giving it his best effort by laying it all out on the line. Because if Tony rejected him right now, he might actually start crying. Either from embarrassment or sexual frustration; probably a decent dose of both.

“Fuck, Peter.” Tony’s hands finally touched him, one on his waist and the other curling around his back, rubbing him soothingly. It was nowhere near his dick, but it was something.

“Please.” He didn’t even know what he was asking for, really. But Tony knew what he needed, so he didn’t really have to.

“You’re sure?”

Out of all the words in the English dictionary, Peter never thought those would be the two that would push him to the peak of humanly happiness, but then again, a few months ago, he didn’t even know Tony Stark existed, so clearly Peter lacked competency in predicting anything in his life.

“Fuck yes. Please.”

“Tell me if you feel uncomfortable at any point and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.” Like that was going to happen.

This time, Tony initiated the kiss. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s back and lifted him into the passenger seat. Before Peter knew it, Tony’s lips were back on his and the seat Peter was in was being pushed back until he was lying down.

“I love this jacket on you so much, but it has to come off.” Tony grabbed at the puffer jacket’s zipper and pulled it down. Tony helped him take it off and then he tossed it in the backseat.

When Tony started undoing Peter’s jeans, Peter was just too hard to care what kind of boxers he had on or if he might be too small compared to Tony. Peter was way fucking past that. He just needed the right kind of friction, the kind that didn’t hurt. So when Tony tugged his jeans and boxers down, all Peter could do was shudder at the feeling of his cock no longer being trapped. He didn’t get more than a second to experience that sensation before-Jesus fucking Christ.

Peter moaned brokenly as warmth and wetness engulfed his cock all at once. He was so blissed out from the foreign feeling that he didn't even notice his eyes were squeezed shut.

When he opened them, he saw Tony Stark licking over the head of his cock, his hand stroking slowly at the base. Peter jerked when a few of Tony’s fingers grazed his balls.

“Has anyone ever done this to you, sweetheart?”

Peter shook his head furiously. His moans morphed into whimpers when Tony’s hand let go of him and his mouth pulled away. Why, why, why? Peter couldn’t help his hips bucking up, instinctively trying to catch friction somewhere, anywhere to no avail. He would have probably kept trying if Tony didn’t pin his waist down, making it impossible for Peter to move.

“Words, baby.” Tony’s harsh tone made Peter shiver. “Answer my question.”

“No, Mr. Stark.” Peter panted desperately. “No one. Only you.”

“Good boy.” Tony rewarded him with his hand, stroking him lightly, barely more than a graze. Peter whimpered as he writhed against the seat.  How was he ever supposed to jerk off again? It would be nothing compared to how Tony made him feel.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend like I don’t want you?” Tony asked. “How hard it is to say no to you when you’re practically begging for it?”

The dirty talk made Peter’s heart race, maybe as much-or even more than Tony’s hand did.

“Coming to see if I was okay. You are such a sweet boy, aren’t you? So, so good for me.” Tony’s lips wrapped around Peter’s cock again and he really started going at it, taking all of him in his mouth and moving his tongue in so many directions Peter couldn’t keep up.

“Mr. Stark. Please, I’m so close.”

Really, Peter was doomed from the start. How much of a chance of lasting more than two minutes did he actually have?

He expected Tony to take his mouth off, but he only sucked harder, eliciting a sharp cry from Peter as he came. Peter shuddered with the intense pleasure, riding out his high for as long as it let him. Tony seemed to have the same idea and didn’t pull away until Peter hissed and recoiled in sensitivity.

As soon as his head collapsed against the seat, Tony’s lips were on his and sliding his tongue in his mouth. Peter was too weak to kiss him back properly, but he still tried, and that’s when he tasted unfamiliar saltiness. When the realization came that Tony was feeding him his own come, Peter wasn’t grossed out by it. If anything, when Tony pushed it into his mouth with his tongue, forcing Peter to taste himself, it was fucking _hot_. After Peter swallowed it like it was honey, Tony moved his lips to Peter’s ear, kissing his earlobe and whispering what a good boy he was for him. Peter was still so high from his release that all he could do was lean into Tony’s touch and let out a low whimper as he took what Tony gave to him.

“I want…” Peter pleaded. “I want to do it to you, too.”

Tony ran fingers through Peter’s hair.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He whispered before kissing his cheek.   

Peter fell asleep on the drive home with his head against Tony’s shoulder. At first, it was a little difficult to maneuver himself so he was close enough to the man and still sitting buckled up (like Tony would ever let him in a moving car without his seatbelt) in the passenger seat, but he managed. It helped with one of Tony’s hands in his hair, petting him gently.

What could have been five minutes or an hour later, Tony’s voice lulled him into consciousness.

“Sweetheart.”

When Peter blinked his eyes open, they were in the parking lot of his apartment complex. The sun was beginning to rise and the clouds in the sky were streaked with beautiful shades of orange and pink. Tony was watching him carefully, scanning every fragment of his face. Peter was certain he was looking for signs of distress or regret.

“Thank you.” Peter said earnestly, although he wasn’t exactly positive what he was thanking him for. The jacket? The blowjob? The ride home? Was there an all of the above option?

Fortunately, his words amused Tony enough to put down his magnifying glass (at least for a second).

“I want you to skip school today.” He insisted, cupping a warm hand against Peter’s cheek. “You need to sleep.”

“Mm, okay.” How could Peter argue?

“You will?” Tony traced his thumb in slow circles around Peter’s jaw. “You’ll stay home?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Good boy.”

Wow, okay, Peter was automatically half-hard again. He needed to get out of the car before his dick got too greedy. As he moved for the door handle, Peter paused and turned back to Tony.

“I’ll see you on Wednesday?” He asked, suddenly shy. What if Tony changed his mind?

“Of course.” Tony confirmed, making Peter’s shoulders sag in relief. “After school.” And then, after a moment, added, “If you still want me to, that is.”

“Of course.” Peter parroted back.

“Then I’ll see you then.”

There were the parting words cueing action. Peter hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should he kiss him goodbye? Should he go in for a hug? Should he just get out of the car?

Tony, as usual, must have sensed his completely embarrassingly high levels of awkwardness, because after showing mercy with a mere chuckle, he snaked a hand around the back of Peter’s neck and pulled him closer to kiss him. (Thank God for Tony Stark)

What should have been a short and sweet kiss quickly turned into a full-blown makeout session and Peter was back in his lap before he could blink. Tony’s hands gripped Peter’s waist roughly as Peter rocked twice against his crotch, more confident now that he had done it before. Tony was hard again, too, but that revelation went down in vain when Tony pulled away, breathless.

“Baby.” He groaned. “You have to go in and get some sleep. Let’s not start something we can’t finish.”

Peter looked down at his hard dick in his jeans. A little too late for that.

“I want to get you off.” Peter protested.

“Patience, baby.”

Another hand back in Peter’s hair and he fell pliant against Tony’s chest.

“You’re going to sleep too, right?” Peter asked as he nuzzled his face into Tony’s neck, inhaling the intoxicating minty leather scent.

“Yeah. I will.”

Bullshit.

“Promise?” Peter mumbled against his throat. 

“Peter…”

“Please.”

Tony sighed in defeat.

“Okay. I promise.”

Peter hid his victorious smile in the crook of Tony’s neck.

 

 

Peter snuck back in the apartment easily enough. As soon as he made it to his room, he fell onto his bed.

 

When Peter woke up that afternoon, he was still wearing the jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Please let me know in the comments! As always, all comments are appreciated and they make writing so much more fun. 
> 
> and okay also side note to the people who are out there who keep up with this fic but never comment, please comment on this chapter. it doesn't have to be long-I'm just trying to see how many people are keeping up with my updates, so I can feel more pressed to update more often. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Tumblr-richieloveseds


	13. Peter Stays Home from School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter stays home from school. That has some unintended consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys this took so long! It's an angsty comedy kinda chapter. Hope you enjoy.

It was 3:27 PM when Ned showed up at Peter’s door.

“Hey, buddy.” He greeted warmly and held the LEGO box he was holding up so Peter could see it. “I don’t have chicken noodle soup, but I bought the new set. Wanna build?”

It was times like these where he was especially grateful for his best friend.

“Is that even a question?” Peter asked with a grin and led him into his room.

Ned circled his room, inhaling in deep, dramatic breaths.

“What are you doing?”

“Can you cough on me?” Ned faced him. “Or like, can I drink some of your water?” He eyed the glass on Peter’s bedside table contemplatively. “I _really_ need to get out of school tomorrow. I have a calculus test. You know how my mom is. If I’m not dying, she’s going to make me go.”

“Ned, I’m not sick.” Peter stopped him as he tried to grab the glass of water.

“You’re not?” Ned set the glass back down on the table and cocked his head curiously at Peter. “Then, what’s up with you?”

How could Peter not tell him?

“Tony gave me a blowjob last night.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Ned cupped his cheeks with his hands in shock.

“I know!” Peter could hear the pitch of his own voice get higher as he grew with excitement. 

“No. You’re joking. You’re totally fucking with me. It’s not nice to lie to your best friend, Peter!”

“I’m not fucking with you.” Peter promised. “Swear to god.”

“Holy shit.” Ned exclaimed as he sank into the desk chair. “How? Who started it? What the fuck? Where did you-oh my god, Peter, was it here? Was he in this fucking chair?”

“No! Not in the chair, don’t worry!” Peter laughed. It felt so good talking about it with someone—especially Ned. He spent every waking moment thinking about it since it happened. Talking about it made it even more real, like last night wasn’t some perfect dream Peter conjured up. “I went to the museum last night. We talked for a while and then we got in his car because it was late and he wanted to drive me home. Before he pulled out—” Ned wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Peter rolled his eyes—“of the _parking lot_ , Ned, he gave me this jacket he bought for me and then I kind of started making out with him? Then, he was like, trying to push me away—”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Ned interrupted. “Back up, back up. He bought you a jacket?”

“Yeah, he said it was for, like, an early birthday present.” Peter retrieved the jacket from the closet and handed it to Ned. “He had it in his car, in this Neiman Marcus bag, so I guess he was planning on giving it to me when he picked me up from school on Wednesday.”

“Did you Google it to see how much it costs?” Ned asked, holding it up in front of him.

“What? No, of course not.” The thought didn’t even cross Peter’s mind.

“Can I?” Ned offered, already taking out his phone from his pocket.

“Ned, no!” Peter gasped. “I don’t care how much it—"

“Too late.” Ned’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at his phone screen. “So, this basically confirms that Tony is your sugar daddy.”

“Don’t tell me!” Peter covered his ears frantically. “I don’t want to know!”

“Fine, fine!” Ned smiled teasingly. “I won’t tell you. It’s crazy you’re not a little curious, though.”

Peter peeked through his fingers that were now covering his face.

“Is it over a hundred dollars?”

“Uh, _yes_.” Ned’s lips spread into a thin line as he nodded with wide eyes. “It’s—"

“Ah! Don’t tell me!” Peter yelped, eliciting cackling laughter from Ned.

“Okay, okay, I won’t!” He relented. “So, what was it like?”

“Fucking incredible.”

Peter shook his head in disbelief as he recalled the image of Tony’s dark eyes, the black leather seats against his pale thighs, Tony’s tight lips and the way he spoke to him, the warmth and heat and closeness of it all.

“Wow.”

“What?” Peter tilted his head at him. “What are you thinking?”

A crooked smile broke out across Ned’s face.

“I cannot believe you got head before me.”

Peter laughed and threw a pillow at him. Ned caught it, but it caused the LEGO box to shuffle, creating the sound of the little plastic pieces moving against cardboard.

“I’ll tell you more while we start building.” Peter offered as he sat on the floor.    

 

*

 

When they finally finished assembling the LEGO set, Peter flopped onto his bed. Next to him, his phone beeped for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

“Dude, your phone is blowing up.” A mischievous smirk flitted across Ned’s face. “Is that Tony?”

“No, it’s probably Flash again.” Peter blindly flailed his arm around the bed like a seal until he felt his phone. Upon reading the string of Flash’s name on his screen, Peter dropped the phone and rolled onto his stomach with a groan.  “He’s mad that I didn’t show up for class to work on our project.”

“He seemed pretty pissed in Chemistry. He asked me where you were. I just told him I wasn’t sure. You know, you would think he’d be able to manage one day on his own considering how often he boasts about being the smartest person in the world.”

Peter hummed in mild agreement.

“He probably thinks Tony murdered me.”

Ned eyed him suspiciously.

“You gonna let him know that you’re alive?”

“I will.” Peter said and he meant it. _Eventually_. “Just not right now.” He wasn’t in the mood to come up with an excuse and put energy into all of the incessant questions he was sure Flash had.

Peter was well aware procrastination was bad. And typically, the word didn’t belong in his dictionary. When it came to things that didn’t really matter, he avoided avoidance like crazy. Like school, for example. Peter wouldn’t mind fighting against sleep (bold of him to assume he could get any if he tried) to finish a project early or take notes on one more chapter in his textbook. That was just time management. He understood that, even, embarrassingly enough, found enjoyment out of sculpting his daily plans out--thirty minutes for English, an hour on Calculus, twenty reserved for going over his History notes. It was simple math. It was sitting at his desk and following through. It was a sharp check mark in his agenda when he was done that gave him a sense of accomplishment. Peter wished he could be like that when it came to things that actually mattered.

But he wasn’t.

Because the things that meant something to him, the things that were personal, Peter could put off for years until they blew up in his face. He knew avoiding the inevitable confrontation with Flash wouldn’t help him in the long run. But that was the terrible beauty of procrastination. He’d figure it out later.

“You’re sure Tony isn’t one of those gazillion texts?” Ned asked as his phone buzzed again.

“I’m positive.” Peter assured solemnly. “We’re not there yet.”

Ned laughed at that.  

“He sucked you off in his car yesterday, but when it comes to texting each other, you’re just”—He held up air-quotes for emphasis—“not there yet?”

 _He sucked you off in his car yesterday_. That fucking happened. Moving past that initial rush, Peter’s next instinct instinct was to defend his…whatever sort of relationship he had with Tony, but Ned’s words gave him pause.

They didn’t text, but could they? Would it be weird to text him? Would it be too soon? Would Tony respond? Was he even a texter? What would Peter say if he was to text Tony? Did he use emojis? Would it be weird if Peter used emojis?

“Dude.” Ned remarked.

“What?” Peter prompted automatically but he was barely paying attention. He mostly expected it to be another meme on his phone Ned constantly reached over to show him as he scrolled through his feed. “Just DM it. Are they private?”

Which smiley-face would Peter even use? The closed-eyed, blushing one? Or the one with the opened-mouth? Was that too forward?

“No, it’s not a funny post. That’s the face you make when you’re overthinking.” Ned pointed out. “Stop stressing, dude. It’s not that weird that you guys haven’t texted before.”

“It’s not?” Peter hated how small and unsure his voice sounded.

“It’s not.” Ned confirmed. “If you’re worried about it, just send him a text now.”

Peter clicked on his messages with Tony. The last text was from a week ago, reminding him that Tony was going to pick him up after school.

“And say what?” His fingers hovered over the keys with hesitation. Would Tony be happy to hear from him?

Before Ned could respond, the doorbell rang.

Peter and Ned exchanged puzzled looks with each other.

“Is your mom back?”

“No, she should be at work for another hour.” Peter frowned, standing up. “It’s probably just the mail guy. Sometimes he rings the bell. I’ll go check. Be right back.” He heard Ned mumble something in agreement as Peter walked out of his bedroom. Peter made it to the front door and gave himself a quick internal hype-up (the mailman was a huge conversationalist) before planting on a friendly smile and opening the door.

Where Peter expected to see Mr. Herman stood a pissed off Flash Thompson instead.

“Oh, so you’re alive.” Flash squinted his eyes over Peter. “How convenient.” He moved past Peter and entered the apartment.

“Right, so just curious--is this going to be a regular thing? You showing up to my house without asking?”

“That entirely depends on if you are going to continue to ignore my texts.” Flash said as he took off his jacket. He opened the door to the closet Mary used for Christmas storage and put his jacket on one of the coat hangers. Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes at the completely Flash action.

“I wasn’t _ignoring_ you.” Peter emphasized. Ignoring was a word of contempt and that…that wasn’t right. He didn’t feel that way towards Flash. On most days.

“You are literally holding your phone in your hand, Parker.”

Shit, he was. Peter officially felt like an asshole.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“What?” Flash’s head jerked spontaneously. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing happened! Why does something have to happen?” Peter asked, exasperated. Flash didn’t answer him, instead wandering through the living room, darting his eyes around.

“Your mom home?”

“No. What are you--?” Peter understood before the question even left his mouth. “Oh my god.” Peter sighed, exasperated. “Flash, he’s not here.”

Unbelievable. Literally unbelievable.

“Who’s not here?” Flash moved past him towards his bedroom. Peter groaned arduously and followed him. If Tony _was_ actually in his bedroom, what was Flash’s plan, exactly? To threaten him? Try to shove him out of the window?

“How long has _he_ been here?” Flash spat out the “he” like he was talking about a cockroach-infested mattress.

“Oh, hey Flash. So good to see you too.” Ned waved from his spot on the carpet.

“You stayed home to build LEGOs with Ned?” Flash turned to Peter in incredulity.

“Uh, hello?” Ned crossed his arms over his chest, offended. “I was literally in Chem with you today. Like, five hours ago.”

Flash took a short pause like he was considering saying something (argumentative, probably) before he looked back to Peter with conflicted eyes and a sharp edge to his voice.

“Well, if you weren’t skipping with Ned, then what the hell, Parker?”

Their conversation ventured into ping pong territory immediately after that, both Peter and Flash shooting words back and forth without pause.

“I was sick.”

“You were sick?”

“Yeah. I was sick.”

“You don’t look sick.”

“Well, I was sick.”

“What did you have?”

“Just a virus.”

“A virus?”

“Yes. A virus.”

“What kind of virus?”

“Probably one of those twenty-four hour things.”

The more he explained, the less convinced Flash looked. It frustrated the hell out of Peter, Flash’s stubbornness. Why did he always have to know everything? Why couldn’t he just let shit go?

“Guys, please.” Ned rubbed his temples dramatically. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Flash didn’t even acknowledge him with a glance; obstinate eyes still set on Peter.

“You’re never sick. Or if you are, you go to school, anyway.”

“What do you want from me, Flash? A doctor’s note? A blood sample? I was sick, okay? It happens.”

A sting of guilt hit him as the words left his mouth. Past the obtrusive questions, it was apparent to Peter that Flash genuinely wanted to know what was going on. It was like he sensed something was off and he was worried, but he didn’t know how to express it in a way that wasn’t coarse. He was either unable to form the words or simply unwilling. Whether it was his innate nature preventing him from doing so or maybe just his pride, Peter wasn’t sure. Who could ever tell when it came to Flash Thompson?

“Why are you lying to me?” Flash demanded.

They had known each other for too long. With over a decade of them attending the same schools and being thrown in the same classes, Flash witnessing Peter lie at some point or another was inevitable. Sure, Peter was certain they were small lies, mostly told in elementary school that did nothing but pale in comparison to the ones Flash fed his teachers, but they were still lies nonetheless.

Like the time they were playing hopscotch against each other during recess. They were in first grade and Julie Eden, a classmate who was watching their game, became visibly upset when she noticed Flash continuing his turn after his shoe brushed the corner of the square. 

Right now, Flash probably recognized the same look on Peter’s face when he assured Ms. Prism that Flash hadn’t been cheating during their game, that Julie had seen it wrong or simply misunderstood.

When it became evident that Peter wasn’t going to tell him, Flash changed tactics. He addressed Ned.

“Do _you_ know?”

Ned, who had been watching their spat from the sidelines, blinked in surprise. “Uh, me?” His eyes went to Peter, who gave him a discouraging, _what-the-fuck-man-obviously-don’t-say-it_ look accompanied with a subtle shake of his head. “I, uh, I don’t know anything.” Ned stuttered out. “I mean, I know Peter is sick. _Was_ sick. He’s better now. That’s-I mean, that’s all to know…you know?”

Hopeless. He was hopeless.

“Okay,” Flash started, “so, Ned clearly knows what happ—" Peter’s yodeling ringtone came out of nowhere, cutting off his sentence. Peter fished his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Flash’s scowl, and was about to click decline when he saw that Tony’s name was flashing on the screen.

Holy fucking shit.

Ned’s eyes widened. “Is that-?”

“Shhhh!” Peter nearly screamed, gesturing to Flash with a flicker of his eyes. He would _really_ rather prefer if Flash remained oblivious to the name of the person currently ringing his phone. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll only be a moment.” Which…was a potential lie. He’d be gone as long as Tony damn well wanted.

“What do you want me to do with Flash?”

“What do you want _to do with me_?” Flash scoffed, glaring at him. “Like I’m some sort of stray dog? Trust me, this is far more painful for me than it is for you.”

“Peter,” Ned drew out his name childishly, and pointed an accusatory finger at Flash, who looked like he wanted to bite it off. “He is being really mean right now.”  

“Ned, please!” Peter begged, holding up the phone. “Two seconds.”

 “Fine, fine. You’re right.” Ned gave him a wave to exit the room. “Go get him, tiger.”

At that, Flash looked like he literally wanted to bite Ned’s head off.

“Are you fucking dense?”  Flash hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “You are _encouraging_ this? Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend? How can you tolerate this completely incongruous relationship between Parker and his mother’s boyfriend?”

“Who says ‘incongruous’?” Ned laughed casually. Way too casually. Peter didn’t have to look at Flash to know his temper was about to explode.

“You’re actually criticizing my vocabulary?” Flash barked, voice impossibly snappier than what should be humanly possible. “You know, it might suit you to pick up a book every once in a while written by someone other than Beverly Cleary, you repugnant moron!”

Flash was going to say more, _of course_ he was going to say more, but the phone was nearing its last yodeling ring and holy fuck, Peter had to change his fucking ringtone, but more importantly, Peter did not plan on missing Tony’s call. As Flash dove into his no doubt hour-long monologue, Peter took the opportunity to slip out of the door and tiptoed to his living room. As soon as he got a safe distance away where he could only hear mumbles of Flash yelling at Ned, Peter answered the phone and cradled it against his ear.   

“Hey!” Oh, fuck. Too excited. Way too excited. Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, hey.”

“Peter.” Tony sounded like he was smiling.

Could that ever get boring, hearing him say Peter’s name? Nope. Not possible.

It was a direct acknowledgment that they existed in the same world and Tony was aware of him. What could be better than that?

“Hey.” Peter repeated dumbly, a large grin taking up the greater portion of his face.

“How are you?”  

Cordial. Peter could do cordial.

“I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m good, too.” A brief pause followed and Peter found himself leaning forward as if Tony was sitting across from him. “Did you stay home from school?”

Goosebumps fluttered across Peter’s arms.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Did he do good? Peter held the phone even closer to his ear, eagerly anticipating the man’s approval. Why? He wasn’t sure, but all Peter knew was that he craved it like a drug. Needed to know Tony was happy with him, was proud of him. It mattered as much as breathing.

“How long did you sleep?” Tony prompted, and it was so obvious that he _wanted_ to know, that Peter’s answer would make a difference to him.

“Six and a half hours.” Peter murmured through the phone, hoping it was enough to placate him.

After a painful pause, he heard Tony hum.

“We need to fix that. That’s not good enough, kid.”

“Well, to be honest,” Peter mumbled, the words coming out a bit more flirtatiously than they sounded in his head, “sleeping is sort of the last thing on my mind.” 

Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick.  

An amazing thought occurred to him then, that Tony was speaking with the same mouth that was on him just this morning. Holy fuckdsnjdfnp. How could he just go about a normal conversation when that happened—what--twelve, thirteen hours ago? He was getting hard just _thinking_ about it.

“I wanted to check on you.” Tony’s voice interrupted his thoughts. His tone was low, hesitant, as he ignored Peter’s implication.  “Make sure you’re feeling okay about everything.”

His guilt was palpable. The man was so obviously terrified of wreaking havoc on Peter’s young, impressionable, sleep-deprived mind, and as flattering as it was to be considered and cared about so much, it was just so, ridiculously _unnecessary_.

Peter wasn’t made of glass.

He got head this morning. Okay? Glorious, orgasmic head that Peter was well-aware could never be bested by anyone else because he was downright positive that there was no person on planet fucking Earth who was capable of giving a blowjob like Tony Stark. He didn’t have to circle the globe to know that.

Wait, what was he talking about? Oh, right-Peter got head. He made it through the night—or, the morning, rather, without scars or emotional damage or any type of regrets. And yet, Tony still felt guilty.

He wished he could show him just how much he wanted this, just how much Tony meant to him, but he knew it was never going to be that simple. This was something he felt was going to take time, but hopefully Tony would be able to see for himself just how much he wasn’t hurting Peter the more and more they saw each other. And don’t get him wrong, Peter was a lot of things, alright? He’d admit it. He was impatient and dramatic, and a bit of an escapist at the absolute worst of times, but Peter Parker was _not_ a child. He was one hundred and fifty fucking percent certain that he wanted Tony’s dick in his mouth at any convenient time. How could anyone tell him he didn’t? How could anyone say to him, “No, you’re wrong. You can’t want that.”?

“I’m feeling great about everything.” Peter said, hoping Tony could pick up on his sincerity.

He pushed away the little voice at the back of his head whispering his mother’s name. Peter knew that was something he wouldn’t be able to ignore forever, that it was going to show up at the door like Flash did when he tried to ignore him, too, but…just…not right now. He’d deal with it. Later.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, sweetheart.”

His words lit a fire crackling through Peter’s bones, had his body flooding with mirth. Tony sounded so _pleased_ with him. And he used that word again. The one that could make Peter forget all other words in the English language. _Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart_.

He stood up to steady himself and with a glance in the mirror, he saw an obvious blush had printed on his cheeks. Why did he feel this way? Why did Tony’s approval mean so much? Why did it do this to him? Tony probably knew. Tony knew everything.

“Peter?” The man’s confused voice drew him out of his thoughts.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Peter apologized sheepishly. “I’m here.”

Tony chuckled back, the deep sound reverberating beautifully in Peter’s ear, making him shiver.

“I was just saying that I should be letting you go. I’m sure you have stuff you need to make up.”

A significantly loud crash from his room had Peter glancing in that direction.

“Yeah, I do have some stuff, I think.” Peter didn’t want to hang up, but he didn’t want to keep Tony if he had somewhere to be. “I uh,”—his voice grew shy—“I appreciate you checking on me.”

“Oh, of course. If you feel weird about anything, even for just a moment, don’t be scared to tell me.” Tony spoke with such patience. Peter wanted to hug him. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, alright?”

“Alright.” Peter replied back softly. “Bye, Mr. Stark.”

Before he could make it back to his bedroom, Ned walked out and dragged him by his wrist back to the living room.

“Slight complication.” Ned started, and yeah, those were two words Peter never wanted to hear ever.

“What?” Peter’s eyes widened. “Did you kill him?”

“No, of course not.” Even though they were supposed to be assuring words, they did not make Peter feel any better.

“Ned, what happened?”

“Don’t be mad at me, but Flash knows you did something with Tony.”

“What?! You told him?!”

“Not going to lie. Completely my bad.” Ned admitted quickly. “This one’s on me.”

“Ned, what the hell?”

“You know how he is! I warned you not to leave me alone with him!” Ned protested.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fucking fuck. Peter shoved his palm against his forehead. He needed to work this out now. Everything that Flash knew prior to this was just speculation.

“What did you say specifically? Were the words “museum” or “blowjob” in your sentence?”

“Neither. I don’t even remember how he asked me. I have no idea why he’s so obsessed with you. What do you want me to do?”

What _did_ he want Ned to do? Having him near Flash was clearly not a good idea.

“Go home, okay? Study for your test. I’ll deal with him and call you later.” Peter led Ned to the door. “It’s really okay, dude. I’ll figure this out.”

“I think there’s a lesson to be learned here.”

“Don’t get blowjobs from Mr. Stark?” Or don’t skip school after getting blowjobs from him?

“No, no, definitely keep doing that.” Ned looked at him like he was crazy. “Peter, it’s obvious. Don’t open the fucking door until you check the peephole and are comfortable with letting the person standing there inside. Really, dude, this isn’t 1962. _Anyone_ could be out there.” He said it like a serial killer was looming right outside the door.

But if Peter was being honest, the number of people who visited his apartment was very limited. Somehow, Flash had weaseled his way into that group. How did he even do that? When did that-? Oh, wait.

“Aren’t you the one who gave him my address in the first place?”

“In my defense, he was being so annoying. He stresses me the fuck out. Really, kudos to you for being able to handle him, but dude, I am telling you, Flash Thompson cannot be good for your stress levels. The sound of his voice does the opposite of a white noise machine. You know those machines that play that calming static sounds that help you sleep? Which, you should totally get one, by the way. But _his_ voice”—Ned pointed towards Peter’s bedroom—“is the polar opposite of white noise. His voice literally _causes_ anxiety.”

“Ned, come on, man.” Why couldn’t they play nice? It would make things _so much_ easier.

“Hey, do what you want, dude.” Ned held up his palms lightly in defense. “I’m just saying—it’s your house. You can kick him out whenever you want. Yeah, you might have a group project together, but you don’t have to let him walk all over you.” 

“I’m not.” Peter rubbed his eyes exhaustedly. Tony was right. He should have slept longer. Maybe then, he’d feel more prepared for dealing with this. “He’s not walking all over me.”

“Alright. Just call me later.” Ned gave him a sympathetic pat on his shoulder blade and closed the door after him.

Peter took a deep breath before he made his way to his bedroom. This is where procrastination got him and he wasn’t going to wait to confront Flash again.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick to Ned.” Peter glared at him as he walked in his bedroom. Flash was sitting comfortably in his usual spot on the floor, binder in his lap, pen in hand. An opened textbook laid in front of him that he leaned over to read.

“He’s an idiot.” Flash shrugged carelessly as he wrote in the binder. 

“No, he’s not. Don’t say that about him.” Peter defended. “Besides, you think everyone’s an idiot.”

Flash set down his pen before flicking his eyes up to Peter. 

“I didn’t think you were.”

Wow.

“ _Didn’t_?” Peter echoed. He let out a humorless laugh. “Right. And now that’s changed because I’m doing something you don’t approve of.” 

“You’re being manipulated and you’re blind to it.”

Peter took another breath before speaking. He could tell this was going to be a full on argument.

“That’s one opinion. You don’t see what I see.”

“That’s the only opinion that matters.”

“Of course.” Peter scoffed, disgusted. “Of course, Flash, because you are always right. Everything you say is fucking gospel.”

Flash only shrugged, unaffected.

“Why can’t you just stop using your emotions for two seconds?” He prompted.

“Because I’m not a fucking robot, Flash!” All Peter did was feel. And that didn’t make him weak or stupid or naïve. “ _I_ came onto _him_.”

“It was his responsibility to stop it.”

“You don’t know the situation. It’s not as black and white as you’re making it out to be.”

“Parker, it’s illegal. You can’t consent. How is there gray area there?”

“For less than two weeks. If I lived in practically any other state, I’d be able to consent. What does living in New York really change about me that it wouldn’t if I lived in North Carolina or Indiana or Maryland or fucking Alaska?”

“That’s how you’ve been defending it? What about your mom, Parker? Have you thought about her?”

 The mention of Mary had crossed a line.

“How can you even question my morals? You’re not exactly the Dalai Lama.”

“It’s different, Parker. We’re different! That might be something I’d do to get ahead, but you wouldn’t. That’s not you! That person has never been you.”

So, this wasn’t just about Tony.

“You have this picture of me in your head that I’m some kind of saint, and you know what? It’s not fair. You put me on this pedestal and now, you’re disappointed because for once, I haven’t acted in a way that you expected me to, in a way that fits your mold. It’s bullshit, Flash. I can fuck up. I can do things that aren’t considered ‘the right thing’.”

“So then,” A victorious smirk spread across Flash’s face, “you’re admitting this is a mistake?”

The words soaked through Peter’s skin and trampled through his nerves, disturbing every part of Peter they could reach. A ball tightened in his throat and he swallowed against the impending threat of nausea.

“I want you to leave.” Peter said forcefully, remembering what Ned told him before he left. “This is a waste of my breath. You aren’t listening; you are fucking _competing_.” The realization hit Peter hard and he wanted to throw up. Flash’s jaw slackened in surprise.

Really, Peter would like to know who the fuck made Flash feel like he had to win at everything. It’s not that he was trying to blame him. He knew it couldn’t have been all of Flash’s fault. His upbringing, his parents, Peter was sure they had shaped him into the kind of person who believed winning was the only option and that it applied to worlds more than just academics.

“Parker, I—” 

“No! You’re not listening! Stop making this a fucking competition! This isn’t Decathlon, Flash. You can’t listen to win or to search for a flaw in something I said just to throw back in my face. If you are going to listen, listen to listen. Not to gain something or prove a point or try to one-up me. That may work in every other aspect of your life, and hell, it may work with me a lot of the time, but not right now. Not with this.”

Peter had to consciously work to control his breathing when he felt it slipping more and more unsteady. Too much Flash Thompson for today. Peter had quite clearly overestimated his limit of handling him. This was why he didn’t want to answer Flash’s texts.

For once, Flash had nothing to say. He just glared at him.

“Just go.” Peter moved his gaze from Flash to the wall. “I’ll send you the two paragraph summaries tonight.”

“I am _not_ dropping this.” Flash said stiffly before stomping out of the room.

“Neither am I.” Peter replied back, though he doubted Flash heard him. He waited until the front door closed (surprisingly not slammed) before sinking on to his bed.

They were so different in personalities. So many miles apart. Peter put up with a lot from Flash because he cared about him, and he liked to think Flash cared about Peter too, in his own way, but there was no middle to this. There wasn’t a compromise. Peter couldn’t see Flash’s side without losing Tony. That wasn’t an option. Flash couldn’t understand Peter without being able to lead with emotions, which was just about as likely as Peter telling Tony never to talk to him again. Switching sides was only going to make them lose who they were.

But Flash was right about one thing.

Peter had to stop pretending like Mary wasn’t a part of the equation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You. Fucking. Killed. Me. with your comments on the last chapter. Thank you?? so much?? for leaving them?? Please never stop leaving them?? They make writing so much more fun.
> 
> So...Flash...do we love him? do we hate him? let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> Tumblr-richieloveseds


	14. The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary talks to Peter about her break up. The school evacuates due to a small fire, leaving Peter and Flash alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. It was one of /those/ chapters but I'm very strangely proud of this one. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

It was during dinner that Mary brought up their break-up. She had just returned from the kitchen to grab the salt when she slid in her chair and dove in.

“Can I talk to you about something, honey?”

The worst sentence in the English language had Peter stiffening in his seat. His eyes stared unseeingly at his pasta in front of him as he went through the options.

That could mean _anything_. Did she know about Tony? Did he leave his phone out? No, that wasn’t possible. They barely texted. There weren’t any incriminating text messages between them, anyway; just phone logs he could pass off as internship stuff. So, what then? Did she find porn on his computer? What was the last thing he was watching? Oh. That could be a problem. No, wait, he used Incognito mode and he definitely remembered closing the window. Then was it with school? Was he in trouble? Okay, no, obviously not that either. Maybe it was her work? Did she get promoted? No, her tone wasn’t excited; it was gloomy. Fired? Doubtful. Then what?

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m not seeing Tony anymore, Peter.” Mary said softly.

Oh. _Oh_.

“You’re not?” Peter asked, sort of unnecessarily, if, out of any reason to simply buy him some time to think of what to say.

“No, I’m not. We broke up a few days ago.”

The image of Tony and Mary sitting at a table in a coffee shop was what flew into Peter’s mind.

“What happened?”

“Sometimes it just doesn’t work out.” She explained vaguely. Of course. Peter should have known to expect the adult version. “I don’t think he’s a bad person, honey. I just think we want different things.”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about them together. Peter sank lower in his seat.

“What do you want?” He asked quietly.

“Someone who is dependable.” She shrugged simply. Tony being unreliable wasn’t even a notion in Peter’s head. Peter’s instinct was to defend him, but obviously, he couldn’t do that.

“Honey, I liked him. I liked how he acted towards you, too.” She added. “Someone to look up to. A good father figure.”

_Father figure._

He tried to imagine Tony telling him to do his homework or clean his room. What a joke. Peter recalled the second time they met, when Tony came into his room and teased him about being too clean: _“Really, at this point, it’s just a question of where’s the effort? You couldn’t throw some clothes on the floor or forget to make your bed?”_

But then again, in a way, the way Tony treated him… _was_ fatherly. Like when he told him to put on his seatbelt, or how he said his name when Peter took too long to respond to his questions, or when Tony patted his back and praised him for doing a good job. Those were all perfectly normal fatherly things to do, and yet, there was nothing fatherly about them. But why? If those things weren’t paternal, what category did they fit in? Peter had never seen any of them explained in romantic movies. If they were mentioned, that’s all it was—a mention, simply brushed past, with no emphasis of the solid, grounded words, or the rush of adrenaline from hearing them, or the desperate yearning to please him. Why was that? And maybe more importantly, why did he like all of it so much? What was it about being called a good boy that made Peter’s heart beat faster? He wasn’t a _dog_.

And now that he was on the topic, what was with that word?

 _Good_.

Why did it hold so much weight? Sure, everyone wanted to be good to their partner, but why did Peter need to be good _for_ him? What was the difference and how could he know but also not know at all? How could he not understand but instinctively be able to react so naturally like he got it completely?

It was frustratingly confusing and Peter was determined to understand. But not right now. He couldn’t right now. Not with Mary’s presence and Tony’s absence.

“Mom,” Peter began carefully, “Mr. Stark isn’t like a father figure to me. I like him a lot and I respect him and think he’s smart—” and incredibly handsome, “but I don’t see him…like _that_.”

“You’re right. Tony isn’t your father.”

Peter hesitated. That wasn’t what he meant.

How could he put his feelings in a way that Mary could understand without knowing everything? The answer was he couldn’t.

“I wish he was around more often.” Mary said when Peter didn’t answer. “For you.”

Who was she--oh.

“It’s okay.” Peter muttered quietly, fiddling with the edge of the rug with his shoe.

Talking about his dad wasn’t exactly Peter’s favorite subject. His mother was very aware of that.

“Has your father called you recently?” She pressed anyway. Peter could feel her eyes scanning every twitch of his expression carefully. He wanted to be annoyed by it, by her intrusion, but Peter had no right to talk about overstepping boundaries, so he swallowed his discomfort and opened his mouth.

“No.” Of course not. “He hasn’t.” Why would he?

Mary must have sensed his uneasiness because she switched back to talking about Tony.

“Peter, I’m sorry. I know you liked Tony. I shouldn’t introduce you to the men that I’m dating until I’m sure they’re going to stick around. With Tony, I really thought I was sure.”

Peter clung to the word “liked”. Past tense. Why did she use past tense with him, involving him? The internship buzzed in his mind. What did that mean? Was he automatically supposed to quit? Did she expect that? Could he keep it? Was there a chance that he could keep it? He _had_ _to_. How else was he supposed to see Tony?

“Mom, do you think,” Peter murmured cautiously, like he was avoiding stepping on a landmine, “it would be okay if I kept the internship?” The two second pause had Peter filling in the blanks before she could. “It’s—it’s a really good opportunity. And I need something for my resumé. And I’m already learning a lot.” He rambled, each excuse jabbing at his gut like a knife.

This wasn’t like lying about drinking, or sneaking out, or anything like that. Nothing _normal_. This was so much worse. And he was so desperate. When Mary nodded understandingly, as a part of him felt relief, Peter also felt a rather large piece of himself wither up and die.

If she found out, how would she ever forgive him?

How would she react if she knew what they did in the car the other day?

The idea of telling Mary was nauseating. Obviously, that wasn’t an option. Mary would literally hate him if she ever found out.

It was so fucking unfair. If Peter and Tony were meant to be together, why did this have to be the circumstance? Why couldn’t Peter meet Tony any other way? Bumping into each other on the sidewalk, one of them accidentally spilling coffee on the other at Starbucks, wandering around at the museum’s exhibit on a field trip, it didn’t matter. _Anything_ would have been better than this.

“I’m sorry.” Peter said because even though she couldn’t understand, he felt like he had to say it. It didn’t make him feel a fraction better.

“Honey, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Mary’s kind words felt so undeserved by him, but only because they were. He had so, so much to apologize for. Peter smiled as best as he could and stabbed at a lonely piece of penne pasta on the edge of his plate. 

*

“You have to go in there. You know that, right?”

“I know. I know.” Peter shrugged him off, eyes on the door of his English class. “I’m just building up to it.”

“You can’t avoid him forever.” Ned pointed out, a not-so-small, amused smile on his face. Asshole.

“I’m not trying to avoid him. I made a whole speech for this, okay? I just—I just need a minute.” Peter ran his fingers over the backpack strap on his shoulder for no reason other than a mindless distraction.

“It’s not a big deal.” Ned closed his locker. “You guys argue all the time. Just go kiss and make up.”

“Please not you too.” Peter pleaded, turning to Ned. “My mom…she thinks we’re together.”

“Your mom thinks you and Flash are dating?” Ned’s eyes widened in sheer delight and Peter knew he was seconds away from laughing.

“She asked me how my boyfriend was during dinner last night.” Peter groaned, shifting his eyes from Ned to Flash, who just entered the classroom. Early, of course. “I fucking choked on my water, thinking she knew about Tony. But no. She wanted to know when Flash was coming over again.”

Ignoring Ned’s booming laughter in his right ear, Peter watched as Flash stood at their desk and took out his laptop.

“You done?” He demanded with a stern glare. When Ned’s expression went serious just for him to break down and laugh again seconds later, Peter’s strict standing faltered, and he found himself working hard to keep from smiling.

“Ned, stop.”

The bell rang, signaling five minutes until class started. Students began rushing around.

“Saved by the bell.” Ned adjusted his backpack, the traces of a smile still plastered on his face.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Peter protested, eyes darting back to Flash, who was typing furiously on his laptop.

“Go get him, tiger.” Ned pushed Peter in the direction of the class. Peter turned to give him one last glare before accepting his fate and entering his English classroom.

Flash didn’t even look up when Peter sat down in his usual seat next to him.

“Hey.” He mumbled awkwardly. “Can we talk?”

“I’m not going to apologize if that’s what you’re looking for.”

_Patience, Peter._

“I don’t expect you to.”

Flash finally looked at him.

“Okay. After Mr. White talks to us.”

Of course. The daily thirty second speech Mr. White gave every day since this project began directing everyone to work on their projects and bother him if they needed something. Peter waited restlessly for him to stand up, and as soon as he was done, the class morphed into its typical white noise. Everybody was working on their own thing, chatter was in full swing. No one was paying attention to Peter and Flash. It was safe to talk.

“Okay.” Peter said, leaning forward. “You’re right in that it’s more wrong than right. What I’m doing to my mom, there’s no gray area there. It’s fucked up. It’s by far the worst thing I have ever done to her. There’s no excuse I can make for that.”

“You know that and you’re still going to do it?”

Flash looked so… _disappointed_.

What an ugly, terrible word.

Peter loathed disappointing anyone. It did more than just not sit well with him; it rattled Peter’s insides and made him feel hollow.

And maybe Ned was right; maybe Peter shouldn’t care because he’d been a goody-two-shoes all his life and maybe he deserved to get a little dirty. Maybe Peter had earned to let a few people down every now and then. So why couldn’t Peter just accept it and make the dive? Why did it leave him with a sour taste in his mouth?

“Doesn’t that show you how much this means to me?” Peter pressed. “This isn’t something I’ve thought about lightly. And I…I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You don’t want me to get hurt and you’re trying to protect me.” He said it quickly so he couldn’t be interrupted and made sure not to phrase it as a question so Flash wouldn’t get the chance to waste time by denying it.

“That means a lot to me. It does. And maybe you’re right; maybe this is a mistake and it will end terribly and blow up in my face.” _Please don’t be a mistake._ “But as much as you want to, you can’t save me from my own choices. I’m choosing to give this a chance.”

 _You can’t stop me._ The words swirled around on his tongue, but Peter refrained from saying them. He didn’t want to provoke Flash into a challenge. That could only end badly.

“I’m not saying you have to get on board.” Peter continued hastily. Flash hadn’t cut him off. He was listening, or at least not being argumentative. Yet. There was always potential. “You just have to accept that this is the decision I have made.”

The long silence from Flash was concerning.

“It’s going to end badly. Very badly.” Flash warned solemnly. “This man is going to hurt you, Parker.”

As hard as it was for Peter to imagine Tony doing anything to intentionally hurt him, it was a reality that what they had could end.

What if it was nothing? What if Tony spontaneously decided he didn’t like Peter anymore? Was it still worth it, to push this boundary when there was a big possibility it wouldn’t go anywhere?

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am.” Flash snipped determinedly. “But, fine. I’m not going to stop trying to convince you to get out of it. But I won’t _do_ anything, okay? I won’t tell your mom or try to get him in trouble.”

Peter was about to ask what the hell Flash’s idea of getting him in trouble was when a deafening alarm went off, startling everyone in the classroom.  

“Everyone!” Mr. White stood up from behind his desk. “Please make an orderly exit out of the door! Single-file!”

The sounds of chairs being pushed against tile filled the room as students made their way to the door.

“I didn’t know we were having a fire drill today.” Flash glanced around, alert.

“I think that’s the point of it being a drill.” Peter couldn’t help himself. “You’re not supposed to know.”

Flash didn’t smile; his expression remained serious.

“Take your stuff.”

“Why?”

“ _Because_ ,” Flash groaned, shoving the backpack against his chest, “we might be out there for longer than five minutes and I’m not going to waste it not doing work.”

They walked together, joining a mass of students. Down the hall, a few people were going in the wrong direction, just to be turned around by a teacher.

“Really, it’s natural selection. If we were to have an actual fire and some students weren’t smart enough to know how to follow a fucking exit sign, what are we really losing?”

“Flash!”

“What?” He shrugged carelessly, either being indifferent to or simply not noticing the appalled stares of a few students around him. “It’s survival of the fittest. _We_ would be fine.” 

“Flash, please.” Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking. Peter prayed he could hear the insistence in his voice.

“Why are you mad?” Flash asked with genuine confusion etched on his face. “It’s a compliment! I said you’d be smart enough to survive, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, apparently the bar is pretty low.” Skills included being able to read and walk.

“I don’t know.” Flash shook his head in disagreement. “You’d be surprised at the blatant idiocy of our peers. This morning, I heard Josh Kinder ask his friend if it was safe to drink hand sanitizer. _Hand sanitizer_ , Parker.”

Too many people. There were too many people around.

“Flash, I swear to God,” Peter whispered harshly, “if you don’t stop talking, I am going to quit our project.”

Even though he was fairly sure Flash knew there was only bluff behind his words, he actually had the audacity to look innocently confused, like he had no idea what Peter was upset by.

“It’s fucking freezing.” Flash complained as soon as they stepped outside. Peter pulled him off to the side, away from the congestion of students.

“Why did you say that right then? Josh could have been in that crowd.”

“ _That’s_ why you’re upset?” Flash’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yes. It was mean.”

“It was true!”

“He could have heard you!”

“So, what?” Confusion was still written all over Flash’s face. How could he not understand?

“So,” Peter argued, “what if you hurt his feelings? Or, what if he thought you were a dick?”

“One, I don’t care. Two, there isn’t much of a chance Josh Kinder will be able to further my career or success in any way down the road, so what he thinks of me is meaningless.”

Jesus Christ. Peter didn’t even want to begin to get into analyzing the way Flash thought of people like puppets.

“Yeah, well, how can you know that for sure? What if _you_ end up working for _him_ one day?”

Flash looked at him incredulously.

“The kid tried to drink hand sanitizer this morning. He’s not exactly the next Bill Gates.”

When Peter responded with a frown, Flash offered him a half-hearted, condescending grin and patted his shoulder.

“Oh, Parker. Such a sensitive little idealist. I’d admire it if it wasn’t so nauseating.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Peter glowered.  

“I’m too fucking cold to patronize you.” Flash shivered as a gust of wind assaulted them. “Coldest winter New York has had in twenty-five years and they are subjecting us to this? It’s abuse. The school should be sued.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter smiled, delighting only a _little_ in his pain. “Your Sperry’s aren’t keeping you warm?”

“You’re hilarious, Parker.” Flash seethed, crossing his arms over his chest to warm himself. “Not all of us were prepared to have school in the fucking South Pole.”

“Why not the North Pole?”

“It’s not as cold.”

Peter paused, mulling it over.

“Really?” He questioned curiously.

“Yeah. Elevation.” Flash cocked his head at him provokingly. “Look it up.”

“That’s okay.” For three reasons, including the fact that he believed Flash, he didn’t care enough, and his hands were too warm in his pockets to take them out.  

Peter half-expected him to take out his own phone and Google the damn temperature difference just to prove a point, but Flash’s attention was focused elsewhere.

“Is that a new jacket?”  

Fuck.

Chill the fuck out, Peter. Tread lightly. The last thing he needed was for Flash to think Peter was being prostituted or manipulated into performing sexual favors for Tony. Hell, he had yet to even get Tony off. By the way, when could that change? Immediately, please?

“Yeah.” Peter said with as much nonchalance as he could put into one word. He held off on saying more, afraid he was going to mess up and give himself away.

“It’s nice.” Flash looked over it from the collar to where it cut off at Peter’s waist. 

“Thanks.” Peter eased slightly at the compliment, both surprised and flattered. “It was an, uh, early birthday present.”

The last time Flash complimented something Peter wore was a couple months ago when he pretended to fawn over his shirt. In reality, he was just trying to get a homework assignment from him, and retreated as soon as he got it. This was different, though. There was nothing for Flash to gain. He wasn’t attempting to take anything from him. Or, wait. Was he?

“Are you trying to get me to give you my jacket to wear right now?” Peter asked skeptically.

Flash glanced over it again and shook his head.

“No, I don’t want it.”

“I thought you said you were cold.”

“I don’t want it.” He repeated more sternly.

Well. The next option Peter would have assumed was it being said out of guilt, but Flash clearly didn’t regret anything he said, ever. So, Peter supposed it was safe to assume it was just a genuinely nice remark. From Flash.

Was he dying?

“Come on.” Flash muttered abruptly. “Off this sidewalk. We aren’t sheep.” He strode towards a large oak tree, six or seven yards from the sidewalk, and sank down against its trunk. Peter followed him.

“What are you doing?”

“Working.” Flash pulled out his laptop from his backpack and propped it onto his lap. Peter watched him idly for a couple of minutes and then kicked softly at a particularly dull patch of grass with his shoe.  

“This is taking a long time.” Peter remarked and glanced around. Some students had begun to sit down, some on a bench, others scattered in circles on the long stretch of sidewalk. “I don’t remember drills being this long.”

The last one they had was on the second day of school, and Peter was sure they had only loitered outside for five minutes before they were allowed to go back in.

“That’s because this isn’t a drill.” Flash mumbled as he typed away on his laptop.

“What?” Peter blinked. “Why do you think that?”

“I _know_ that,” Flash corrected pointedly, eyes still focused on the screen, “because Jonah Wilson tells me every single time there’s a fire drill, and he didn’t mention it this morning.”

“Coach Wilson? The gym teacher?”

“Was I not speaking loudly enough?”  

Peter brushed off Flash’s sarcastic bite.

“You’re friends with Coach Wilson?”

When did they even have time to talk? How did they even get along? How was Flash so good with adults?

“Sometimes.” Flash didn’t even glance up from the computer, fingers still moving over the keyboard with swift precision. “It’s good practice.”  

Peter furrowed his eyebrows.

“At making friends?”

“At getting what I want.” Flash’s clicking on the keyboard ceased and he let out an irritated groan. “Please tell me you’re not going to be on your phone during this entire thing.”

“I’m just making sure Ned’s okay.” Peter defended as he typed out a text.

What if this really was a fire? He hadn’t seen Ned the whole ten minutes they’d been out here. What if something happened? What if, somehow, he was stuck inside, and no school officials were visibly freaking out because they didn’t want to worry the students who were outside?

“He’s fine.” Flash assured, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Some idiot left popcorn in the microwave for too long. It’s not that serious.”

Peter had just sent the text when they heard the faint sound of sirens blaring from a distance.

A fucking firetruck. Why would a firetruck be coming unless there was an actual fire? Or was it an ambulance? Jesus. Which one would be worse?

“Flash.” Peter heard the strain in his voice as he looked around worriedly, seeking Ned in the crowd. Where the fuck was he?  

“Parker, hey.” Flash snapped his fingers, gaining Peter’s attention. “It’s alright. The fire engine is protocol. It automatically comes when the fire alarm gets triggered. Do you see a fire? Is there any smoke?”

Peter looked. The building looked as normal as it always did. There wasn’t any smoke in the sky.

“No.” Peter murmured. Those were good signs.

“Everything is okay. Easy, Parker.”

Most of the time, the way Flash spoke with such certainty was downright pretentious and annoying, but right now, it settled Peter with a sense of security. He was grateful for it.

“You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right. You should know that by now. What class is he in, anyway?”

“Uh…” Peter blinked through his thoughts, trying to remember Ned’s schedule. “Sanders. History.”

“Then he went through the other exit. He and the rest of the classes from that side of the hall are all gathered in the parking lot on the other side of this building.”

Peter felt relieved, but even more so when Ned’s text came through that he was okay.

“Told you so.” Flash chirped, his signature victorious smirk appearing on his face.

“He says that people are saying the fire was caused by Mr. Porter’s class.” Peter’s head tilted down as he read off the text in his frozen, numb hands.

“ _Chemistry_?” Flash snorted in response. “I can’t believe we’re standing out here in the freezing cold because some dumbass didn’t know how to turn off a Bunsen burner.”

He let out a loud, very inconvenienced groan. In any other setting, it would draw in attention from whoever was milling around, but Midtown High’s students, especially the ones in their grade, were…overly familiar with Flash’s frequent exclamations of annoyance.

“Well, that settles it. You may as well get comfortable. We’re going to be here for a while.” Flash patted a hand next to him, signaling for Peter to sit down. “Did you finish the annotations last night?”

“Yeah, hang on.” Peter sat down in front of Flash and rifled through his backpack, pulling out a dark sweatshirt that was in the way.

“Hey, I forgot that I have a hoodie. You can wear it if you want.”

“Is it clean?”

“Um, yes?” Peter was taken aback. “Should I be offended by that?” He was.

“No, not you.” Flash waved the thought off with a flick of his hand. “Just--God knows how long it’s been in there.”

“Just take it.” Peter tossed the black hoodie at him before he could decide if being nice was worth it or not.

Flash must have been as cold as he claimed because he shrugged it on without another word. Uncharacteristically, he pulled the hood up, covering his red ears. Tufts of disheveled hair spilled out over his forehead, making him look impossibly younger, an odd reminder that Flash was, in fact, seventeen, and nowhere near as old as he acted.

“Well?” Peter prompted for some sort of response. They were around the same size, so it seemed to fit pretty well.

Flash inspected his sweater paws with mild trepidation. 

“I feel emo. Like I should paint my fingernails black and listen to heavy metal music.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of Flash listening to Metallica.

“That or lean against a brick wall and smoke a cigarette.” Flash spurred on, his previous frown slipping into a grin matching Peter’s.

“It’s a black hoodie,” Peter emphasized amusedly, “ _not_ a leather jacket.”

Flash made a clicking sound with his tongue in objection.

“Some would argue,” Flash’s continued, his tone only slightly more playful than competitive, “the black hoodie has replaced the leather jacket in modern society.”

“You know, you could just say ‘thank you’ instead of trying to turn this into a whole revolution for fashion.” Peter suggested, with nothing except levity in his words. Flash opened his mouth as if to push the faux argument forward, but instead of fluidly speaking, he hesitated.

“Thanks, Parker.”

Another sincerely nice sentence from Flash had Peter’s head spinning in surprise.

“Uh, yeah.” Peter made an effort to mask his disbelief. Two in one day? Was there something in the water? “No problem.”

Silence drifted between them for a second longer than what Peter pegged as normal. He glanced at Flash to find that he was focused on the laptop screen in his lap. Probably feeling his stare, Flash looked up and it took all of two seconds for a scowl to cover his face. 

“Hello? The annotations. Let’s go.”

Well. It was nice while it lasted.

Twenty minutes later, Peter and Flash were both immersed in their productive zone. They sat next to each other, backs against the trunk of the tree, Flash typing up another essay while Peter planned paragraph structure in his binder.

Despite their differences, they worked well together.

They were soon interrupted by the principal of the school. With a megaphone.

“Attention, students. Due to a small fire caused by an experiment in a science classroom, we have to close school for the remainder of the day. Your parents have been notified in an email and home phone call. Please make arrangements to have a parent or guardian pick you up if they are not already aware. Sign out with your teachers. We will see you tomorrow.”

As Peter looked around, half of the students were gone. Did they just give up and leave? Was that allowed? How long had he and Flash been working?

When he turned back to Flash, he had already packed his backpack.

“Well, Parker, good progress today. Be sharper tomorrow.” With that, Flash walked off, down the sidewalk towards the street, to where he probably had a chauffeur waiting. So much for signing out. Where was Mr. White, anyway? This was just a shit show all around.

Now, for Peter’s predicament. There was no way Mary would even see the email until she got off work, which wouldn’t be until six. Sighing, Peter sent her a quick text that he was fine just in case.

Well. Now what? Should he walk home?

The phone rang three times before Tony picked it up.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. I know we said Wednesday, but I was wondering if you could please pick me up now?”

“Now? It’s eleven o’clock.” Tony’s voice was skeptical and then concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Here came the telling about the fire part. Peter took a deep breath.

“Everything’s okay. Well, there was just this small fire, so we got out—”

“What?” The intensity of Tony’s panicked voice had Peter turning his volume button down on the side of his phone. “A fire? Peter, what do you mean a fire? Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, completely. No one was hurt.” He promised hurriedly. “I was on the opposite side of the building. It was caused by some kind of experiment in a chemistry class.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

Tony worrying about him stirred the constant butterflies in Peter’s stomach. They had been practically starving without Tony around.

Jesus. He needed to sit down. Or run a mile. One of those.

“I didn’t even see an actual fire. Really, I’m okay. I promise I won’t be covered in ashes when you pick me up.” Peter cringed at his forwardness. “ _If_ you pick me up, I mean. My mom is on a shift. I’m sorry; I know you’re working. It’s okay if you’re busy. I can find a ride—"

“I’ll be there in ten.”  

Peter blushed at the conviction in his words. How on earth did Mary ever pair Tony Stark with the word _undependable_?

“You don’t have to. I--”

“Ten minutes.”

Peter didn’t say anything for a moment, too busy bleeding happiness with how full his smile was.

“Thank you.”

“But,” Tony said abruptly, drawing in Peter’s attention further, “if you were minimizing the severity of the fire and there is so much as _one speck_ of ash on you…” Tony drifted off and Peter wanted to drown in Tony’s voice, wanted his lips against his ear whispering this to him, not the harsh, flat surface of his phone. “There’s going to be a problem.”

“Not a speck.” Peter promised breathlessly.

He always thought comparing people to drugs was _such_ a reach. But as Peter walked to the usual spot where Tony picked him up, his body shook with withdrawals. Too long without Tony. It was sick and wrong, but Peter needed to see him. So, he waited. And when Tony’s black Audi pulled up precisely eight minutes later, Peter did everything he could not to sprint to the car.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, let me know in the comments :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Tumblr - richieloveseds


	15. Tony and Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony picks Peter up from school and takes him to the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, very very very starker heavy chapter.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

“Am I ash-less?” Peter questioned as soon as he slid into the passenger seat, an inevitable grin stretched on his lips. Tony’s eyes flickered down Peter’s torso then back up, inspecting him teasingly, until he reached Peter’s gaze.

“Completely.”

Tony’s smile was like a ray from the sun, bright and warm, with crow’s feet and shining eyes dipped in rich caramel.

And—fucking hell. He was wearing another suit; one Peter hadn’t seen yet. This one was light gray with a silky, purple patterned tie. How had Tom Ford not discovered him and chosen Tony to be a model? Clearly, he was missing out. Tony looked so…so crisp and professional and fuck, Peter needed to calm down before he got hard again.

“I want to hear about this fire.”

“I thought you might.”

Tony threw a glance down towards Peter’s body, possibly drifting near the crotch area, and Jesus fuck—was he hard? Did Peter seriously already have an erection?

“ _After_ you buckle up.”

Oh. How did he forget that?

“Sorry.” Peter apologized bashfully, ducking his head as he pulled the seatbelt over his chest and clicked it into place. He really needed to do better about that. Tony shouldn’t have to remind him constantly.

“It’s okay. I’d just prefer you not potentially dying twice in one day.”

“Potentially dying.” Peter repeated, delight tugging at the corners of his lips. “And I thought I was dramatic.”

“Even if you didn’t see it,” Tony’s fingers tightened on the wheel, “I don’t like the idea of you anywhere near a fire.”

The protectiveness sent a rush of warmth down Peter’s spine. He recalled how panicked Tony’s voice sounded on the phone. What would he do if Peter was in any real danger?

“So, the fire was, um, caused by some science students. I know that’s vague, but our principal didn’t go into too much detail…” Peter rambled on about the fire, and then about his day. At moments, he paused, unsure of himself, but Tony nodded to show that he was listening and made a few comments, encouraging Peter to keep going. It was just…it was _nice_. Tony was nice—and he was a good listener.

Sure, Peter avoided small details. There wasn’t any real point in including Flash in his anecdote. It’s not that he was lying. He just…well, what was the point of mentioning him?

They didn’t talk about anything but casual topics during the drive to the museum. Peter didn’t feel like anything was lacking or that they were darting around the subject. The day was young. They didn’t have to dive in right away. Simply being in Tony’s company was enough to set his mind at ease.

 

*

 

“He’s alive.” Tony announced as they entered the back room.

Rhodey swiveled his chair around. White sweater today, Peter noted as he set his backpack down on one of the tables.

“Hey, Pete.” Rhodey greeted amicably, albeit a little dose of stress in his tone. Peter was familiar with _that_ voice. Heavy workload today. “Good to see you.”

“You too. Sorry I took Mr. Stark—” at Rhodey’s pursed lips, Peter corrected himself, “—Tony, I mean, from work.”

He couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at Tony, who was standing over a desk, leaning on his palms. His eyes were cast downwards, seemingly reading from a stack of papers, but as Peter said his name, his lips quirked upwards into a hidden smile.

Fuck. Peter really, really, really missed him and wow, Peter was just so endlessly endeared. Was that ever going to stop? Probably not.

“Perfect timing, actually.” Rhodey chirped with a grin and turned back to his computer. Peter recognized the colors and layouts of the screen as his email and from the block of text, he had been typing a tremendously long message before they interrupted him. “Thought he might pass out if he didn’t take a break.” Rhodey said, keyboard clicking fluidly. “He’s been here working since five.”

Since _five_? As in, five this morning? Alarms went off in Peter’s head and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Why so early?” Peter asked, drifting his gaze between the two men, probably doing a shitty job of covering the concern in his eyes. Thank God Rhodey’s back was to him as he finished his email.

“Wanted to get a head start on the newest exhibit.” Tony shrugged inadvertently and began sorting through the stack of papers in front of him. Peter nodded once, frustrated by his noncommittal answer he was sure was a lie.  

He knew Tony had a habit of overworking, especially when he was stressed. It wasn’t a healthy way to handle his issues but it wasn’t like Peter could talk; his tendency to ignore his problems and passively wait for them to go away wasn’t exactly much better.

But, still. He didn’t like the thought of him here before the security guards. The fact that his stress was most likely caused by Peter didn’t help either.  

“Sorry to leave so soon, but I have to meet with Lyle about the benefit dinner and I’m already running late.” Rhodey closed his laptop and slipped it into his opened briefcase.

“Lyle?” Peter quirked an eyebrow. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t pin it to a face.

“Yeah--Lyle Chambers. He’s our PR guy. You’ve probably seen him in passing; he’s constantly moving around.” Rhodey explained as he took his coat from the closet and shrugged his arms through the sleeves. “But, hey, you’re still interning tomorrow, right?”

“Uh…” Peter hesitated and glanced to Tony for a sign of approval.

“He is.” Tony answered for him with certainty as he flicked through some papers.

A thick silence drifted in the room.

Rhodey glanced from Tony to Peter with slight wariness and Tony had already begun a sentence that would surely be charismatic and funny and would, without a doubt, remove the apprehensive glaze in Rhodey’s eyes when a ringtone went off, disorienting the atmosphere.

“That’s probably Chambers.” Rhodey rummaged through his jacket’s pocket until he found the phone and shoved it against his ear. “Hey, sorry. I’m on my way now.” Rhodey gripped his briefcase off the counter and briefly held the phone against his chest to say a quick goodbye to Peter and tell Tony he sent him the follow-up on some art proposal before he power-walked out of the door.

“You were here at five?” Peter asked as soon as the door closed.

“You caught that?” Tony’s fingers brushed over his forehead. Peter watched the movement, captivated. “What am I saying? Of course, you did.”

“Could you not sleep?”

Tony gave him an _are-you-kidding_ look.

“With you on my mind, how am I supposed to?”

Well. What a fucking sentence.

“Peter, I haven’t been interested in a teenager since I was one.” Tony shook his head. “Until you.”

This was it. Peter could feel tell. It was coming. The Talk. The Inevitable Talk. The Make It Or Break It Talk. The Talk That Defined Whatever They Were. The Talk That Decided Where They Were Going.

“You are so innocent and kind and sweet and you don’t deserve to feel the guilt or the deception that comes along with being with me.”

“You’re not the only one who’s thought about this.” Peter pressed back. “I’m not naïve. I’m not. I know how risky this is and I still want to do it.”

Tony was standing too far away from him. Peter needed him closer.

“I don’t think you understand. If we did this, it would have to be in secret. You’re saying you are comfortable with that?”

Sure, it wasn’t the _ideal_ situation, but any situation where he could be with Tony came pretty fucking close.

“Yes.” He nodded to accentuate his sincerity. When Tony grew silent, Peter couldn’t take it anymore. “Can’t we at least try?” He asked (begged). Tony looked at him with those fucking brown eyes, the ones Peter would write poems about if he thought he could do them even a little bit of justice.

“I don’t know.”

Well, it wasn’t a “no”, so Peter persisted.

“What _do_ you know?” He asked, not unkindly.

“I know I can’t get you off my mind.” Tony admitted. He pushed himself away from the table and began to slowly pace the floor. The face of his watch glinted, reflecting off the fluorescent light. “I know there’s something wrong with me for thinking about you the way I do.” The sound of Tony’s brown leather Oxford’s clicking against the ground ceased as he stood in front of Peter. His gaze was blinding. “I know what would happen if people found out, and I know that--somehow, that’s not enough of a reason for me to stop.”

“Tony.” Peter couldn’t breathe.

Tony closed his eyes. Opened them again.

“You really want to try this?”

Peter answered in the only way he knew how. All cards on the table.

“I have never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

Not even close.

Tony reached out, brushing his fingers softly against his cheek. Peter could see it and it wasn’t in his head; Tony was giving in.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to do it right.”

Fuck. This was happening. This was actually happening.

“I want to talk about everything. Go into detail about it all.” Tony’s index finger grazed over Peter’s bottom lip.  “But right now, I just want to kiss you.”

Yeah, Peter was definitely more than okay with that. He leaned forward, but only felt a short graze of Tony’s lips before the man pulled back.

“We wouldn’t want Rhodey walking in and seeing us like this.” Tony took Peter’s hand, sending waves of tingles throughout his entire arm. “Let’s go to my office.”

 

*

 

“Could you lock the door?” Tony asked casually, as if that wasn’t the most groundbreaking sentence to ever be uttered by anyone in the history of the universe. Peter gulped in response—literally, physically gulped, like a cartoon character (a reaction he didn’t even know he could have), before nodding fervently and turning back for the lock.

When he faced Tony again, the man was sitting behind his desk in his black leather chair, staring at Peter with an attentive glint in his eyes like he was planning his next step carefully.

“Come here.”

Peter obeyed immediately, stepping out of his stiff stance like a freshly oiled tin-man. He felt Tony’s eyes on him, liberally paying attention to every movement, making Peter hyper aware of his own. He paused in front of the desk.

“No.” Tony tsked disapprovingly. Peter’s heart sank. “Come _here_.”

 _Oh_. As soon as what Tony wanted clicked for him, Peter walked around the desk and stopped next to Tony’s chair.

Peter watched, immobile and entranced, as Tony’s hands reached out towards him until he was touching his jacket. His fingers delicately ran down both sides of the opened chain at the front.

“I love how good you look in this.”

Peter dipped his head down in embarrassment at the directness of the compliment. Tony’s fingers tightened around the fabric and Peter thought for a moment that he was going to catch the slider and zip it up, but in a swift move, Tony tugged both sides harshly, pulling Peter towards him.

Mint and leather. Mint and leather. Mint and leather.

“What do you say?” Tony prompted in a low voice. With Tony in the chair, Peter was standing above him, taller than him, but it didn’t feel that way at all; felt like Peter was on his knees.

“Th—thank you.” Peter fumbled out quickly. He could see in the man’s eyes that his response was the one he wanted, and knowing he gave the right answer  relieved Peter immensely.

“Good. You’re welcome.” Tony’s words caused the feeling to expand, pride blossoming through Peter’s veins. He did _good_. “Did it keep you warm during the fire drill?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Peter couldn’t even focus on how meek his voice sounded; he was too busy absolutely glowing with pleasure. He adored having Tony’s full attention. Wanted it all the time in any way he could get it. How he had gone _days_ without Tony’s eyes on him was beyond Peter’s understanding, but he’d be sure to avoid letting it happen again.

“I’m so glad.” Tony smiled. “I can’t stand the thought of you freezing outside in the cold.” His eyebrows drew together as he gave another look at the jacket. “You must be warm in it right now, though, aren’t you?”

Shit. This wasn’t the first time someone had addressed why Peter was wearing a thick padded jacket in the warmth of inside.

In short, Peter had developed a bit of an addiction to the black puffer jacket. Okay, so would it be considered healthy that Peter avoided ever taking the jacket off? Well…probably not. Had he slept in it more than once? Maybe—but he couldn’t help it! It was from _Tony_ and it made Peter think of him. And. And there may have been another reason. The longer Peter had the jacket on, the more it felt like a reminder. Like Tony had written _Tony Stark_ on Peter in the form of an article of clothing. Okay, okay, obviously that wasn’t Tony’s intention; he gave it to him as a present because he cared, but how was Peter supposed to explain to him that the concept was so appealing?

So, instead of diving into that rabbit hole, Peter nodded in response, and chewed on his bottom lip. He was in Tony’s company. He could do without the jacket. He had the real thing. Then, he blinked, surprised, when Tony’s hands reached up to shrug the jacket down his shoulders. _Oh_. Okay. This was more than okay. If he knew Tony wanted to undress him for the sole purpose of undressing him, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Peter straightened his shoulders as subtly as he could (he’d take every chance at looking a little less scrawny that he could get) as he let Tony slowly pull off the jacket.

He would have worn something better, would have put in more effort in his clothing choice, but he didn’t expect to see Tony today, so Peter was left wearing a basic long-sleeved, plaid, button-down shirt once the jacket was tossed on the desk. Tony didn’t seem at all disappointed though as he pulled Peter onto his lap.

They were kissing like they had all the time in the world.  Peter’s arms were around his neck and Tony’s hands were on his hips and everything was so right.

That’s when he felt how hard Tony was. Which, yes, fuck yes.

In a swift movement, Peter slipped off of Tony’s lap sank to his knees on the floor.

“I want to do what you did for me.” He said, looking up at Tony from between his legs.

“Peter,” To say the man’s objecting tone was soul-crushing was an understatement. “I know the other day, I gave you a blowjob, but that in no way means that now it’s your turn.” Wait, what? “You don’t owe me anything. I’m never going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want or aren’t ready for.”

Peter stared for a second, taking in the concern in his eyes and the sincerity in his words, and God, sorry, but what the fuck? How could anyone look at them and call this unhealthy? Tony just outranked half of the students at Peter’s school without even trying.

And then he had to take a step back—or, forward, really. Because what Tony failed to accept was that Peter had been having dreams of blowing him since—when? The third time they ever met? This conversation, however kind and perfect it was, was unnecessary. Not only had Peter never gotten Tony off, but he had never even _seen_ his dick. There was great injustice in that. 

“I’m ready, though.” Peter insisted, pawing at his thigh. “I want it. I promise I want it. Please. I’m completely sober.”

Well, that part was fabricated. When was Peter ever really _sober_ around Tony? He was drunk constantly, crazy-aunt-on-Thanksgiving drunk, greedily drinking Tony’s essence like his own special brand of champagne.

“Do you want to breathalyze me?” Peter joked, fucking beaming when Tony’s clay brown eyes filled with bubbly mirth. Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen Tony look so…fond of him. He was only an inch into analyzing what the softness of his irises meant when Tony’s hand curled around his neck and pulled him into another kiss. Peter let out a hum in joyful surprise at the movement and eagerly pressed his lips against Tony’s in reciprocation. He tried to kiss him properly, really, he did, but he only got a second or two in before his lips betrayed him and morphed into a smile. Tony was quick to follow, slipping into a grin so easily that it was like he had been resisting. And it should have been weird, their smiles pushed onto each other, but it wasn’t--because not only did the word “weird” belong nowhere near them, but this was them basking in their victory. They were together-- _finally_ together--sharing the same ecstasy of knowing it. And then, Peter was giggling against Tony’s lips because this felt better than anything—better than winning the championship at Decathlon last year, better than any fantasy of them Peter had conjured up in his head. When Tony’s warm hand reached up and cradled Peter’s jaw, all he could feel was the universe telling him that this was why everything was worth it.

“You are so fucking cute.” Tony breathed, tracing his fingers lightly along Peter’s cheek. “Are you even aware of that?”

Of course, that comment knocked the air out of Peter’s chest, leaving him no room to think of a witty response, only to scramble for breath in vain.

“Thank you.”

Peter could feel the heat in his cheeks rising under Tony’s touch and wondered if he could feel it from his fingertips.

“I still want to.” Peter said, high off the confidence. “Please?” He added, glancing down at Tony’s pants. When he looked back up, something had shifted in Tony’s gaze.

“Okay.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

“Really?” Peter couldn’t hide his excitement.  

“Yes.” Tony’s fingers made their way into Peter’s hair and—fuck. How could literally being _petted_ by Tony feel so fucking good? “Don’t think it would have been possible for me to say no again.” He admitted with reluctant honesty in his voice.

“You make it sound so easy.” Peter mumbled, fluttering his eyes open. He hadn’t even realized they were closed from the second Tony had touched his hair.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Tony’s fingers slipped from Peter’s head, down the side of his face to his chin, and tilted it up so he was looking at him, “denying your pretty lips around my cock when you’re so desperate for it is not easy.”

“Jesus.” Hearing Tony speak so lewdly was undoubtedly the hottest thing Peter had ever had the privilege of witnessing.

Then Tony’s hand left Peter’s chin and no, no, no, _please_ keep touching him, it was so unfair, why did he have to— _oh_. As soon as Peter realized Tony was unbuckling his belt, all thoughts of being touched vanished from his head and he became completely focused on the display in front of him. It was like Tony was unwrapping a present for him. And then, the nimble movements of his fingers paused.

“You’re sure?”

He said another sentence, but Peter wasn’t listening. He couldn’t even make eye contact with Tony to assure him; was too occupied staring at the half undone belt a foot away from his face.

“Please.” Even Peter could hear the whining, high-pitched pleading of his own voice.

He knew Tony was being considerate asking, but each hesitation was so fucking painful and Peter really didn’t think he could handle any more of them, or else he might actually start crying.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that, and Tony unbuttoned and zipped down the fly of his pants before shuffling them down to reveal black boxer briefs against his tan thighs. Not even two seconds later, those were pulled down, too, and holy fucking shit.

First impressions? He was _big_. Significantly bigger than Peter. Like, inches—plural--significantly bigger. Peter would give himself time later to be embarrassed about the size difference, but right now, his mouth was watering staring at Tony’s cock. Experimentally, he wrapped his fingers around the base like he did to himself when he was beginning to jerk off. But this wasn’t Peter getting handsy with himself at two in the morning in his bedroom.

This was _Tony_. Experienced, handsome, perfect Tony that Peter cared about pleasing nearly as much as he did breathing. 

“Want me to talk you through it, baby?” Tony asked, his voice deeper than usual, with an edge that Peter had never heard before.

And yes—fuck--that was an overwhelmingly comforting idea. Tony’s words were _exactly_ what he needed. Peter snapped his eyes up to Tony’s and nodded eagerly.

“Yes, please.”  

“So polite.” Tony remarked, rewarding him with a hand in his hair. “You have no idea how sweet you look in between my legs. So fucking innocent.”  

Jesus Christ. There was something really unfair about how fast Tony could turn Peter on. How he knew exactly what to say to get him to react so pathetically.

“Why don’t you try by licking it, baby? From the top down.”

Peter followed the directions carefully, making sure to use as much tongue as he could. Tony’s reaction was astronomically pleasing, a low moan Peter wanted to listen to on repeat while he was touching himself under the covers at night, biting his blanket to suppress the noise he would make from cumming.   

“Try giving the tip a kiss, sweetheart…Hmph…That’s it, such a good boy.”

The praise had Peter’s cock hardening in his jeans to the point of it being painful, but he barely even noticed as he peppered the tip of Tony’s cock with wet kisses.

“Really delicately lick further up. Good boy. Now move your hand—fuck!” Tony groaned, hips bucking up a few inches. Peter welcomed the movement happily, albeit with a little struggle of repositioning so he could take him in his mouth.

Tony’s fingers abruptly tightened around his hair and pulled roughly, causing Peter to moan loudly around his cock. It was painful, should have been painful, but it was a relieving type of burn—like pouring cool water on a cut.

“Didn’t tell you to suck yet, did I, baby?” Tony asked sternly.

What? Peter’s eyes widened in response as he tried to scramble for a response.

“Answer me.” Tony demanded with another tug of Peter’s hair.

“No, you didn’t.” Peter answered, breathless as he tried not to moan. Tony stared at him with a contemplative look on his face before he cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Tony cooed sympathetically. “It’s your first time. I’m not going to punish you.”

_I’m not going to punish you. I’m not going to punish you. I’m not going to punish you._

_I’m not going to punish you. I’m not going to punish you. I’m not going to punish you._

The words replayed in his head like a VHS tape. Punish him. Punish him how? And why was that nearly enough for Peter to cream his pants on the spot?

“You’re just so eager, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes.” Peter nodded enthusiastically. He looked at Tony’s cock, so close to his face, but hesitated on asking for permission. Did he deserve it?  

“Then keep going as you were. Be a good boy and put your lips around my cock.” Tony grunted, eyes squeezed shut. “Breathe through your nose.”

Well, Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He was way too determined to be good for Tony to worry about his inexperience getting in the way. He flicked his tongue around every part of his cock he could reach and forced himself to get deeper than he expected was comfortable to take. Mind over fucking matter.

Really, it should have been questionable just how much Peter got off on sucking Tony off. At this rate, with Peter’s little whines mixing in with Tony’s low, throaty moans, he couldn’t tell who was enjoying it more. Tony’s noises, of course, only spurred Peter on to try harder, to push as much of him down his throat as he could take. He couldn’t fucking believe he was making him feel this way.

Tony’s hand had made its way back into Peter’s hair (its rightful place), and his fingers were stroking small, rough circles around Peter’s scalp when the quickness of breaths that Tony drew increased.

“Baby, I’m close.” Tony warned him. “That’s enough, sweetheart. You did beautifully.” Tony said before sliding his cock out. Wait, what? Why? _Why_ was he pulling out of Peter’s mouth? He did a good job, didn’t he? Peter regarded the movement with a confused frown and then instinctively followed his lips closer to Tony’s cock that was now gripped tightly in his hand.

“Please.” He nudged Tony’s cock with his cheek. Peter didn’t know what he was begging for. He hoped Tony would, though, and that was always more than enough.

“Look at me.” Tony ordered and Peter obeyed as quickly as it took his brain to process the words. Tony had beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, but below that, his eyes were the darkest they’d ever been around Peter, aroused and hazy, yet so sharp, guiding Peter like a compass. “Do you want me to cum on your pretty face and tongue, sweetheart?”

Yes! Yes. That was exactly what he wanted.

“Please, Mr. Stark. Want it so much.” Peter begged. He was far too gone to care how desperate he sounded. He might have been crying. “Want to see you come. Want to taste you. Have waited so long. Need it so much.”

Tony jerked himself faster at Peter’s words, and screwed his eyes closed for just a second in pleasure, before opening them and focusing on Peter’s unwavering gaze.    

“Why don’t you open your mouth, baby? Show me that pretty pink tongue?”

Peter did as he was told. Tony rubbed the head against Peter’s tongue, stroking his cock attentively with his right hand. Peter could taste the salty precum leaking onto his tongue, and resisted the urge to swallow in fear that Tony would pull away.

After Peter drooled as he watched the movement of Tony’s fist around his cock for several strokes, Tony let out a loud, animalistic grunt and ropes of white cum covered Peter’s cheeks, his tongue, a bit above his eyelashes.

Seeing Tony like this, so visibly affected by what _Peter_ was doing? It was a fucking sight, one Peter was sure would be scrapbooked in his memory for eternity.

As he watched Tony’s chest rise and fall in an effort to regain his breathing, Peter swallowed the cum that had hit his tongue and then licked around his lips, as far as his tongue could reach, trying to catch as much as he could.

And then what happened had absolutely no transition. Once second, he was on his knees, licking up his cum, and the next, Tony’s hands were roughly pulling down Peter’s jeans so quickly that he couldn’t even process what was happening. Tony had barely wrapped his hand around his cock when Peter came with a broken, drawn out whimper. It was so unexpected that all Peter could do was take it, riding his high until he collapsed in an exhaustive mess against Tony’s legs.  

 

*

Peter would’ve stayed longer, would have loved to keep kissing Tony idly in their post-orgasmic haze for an eternity, but he got a text from Ned in a panic. The message itself was vague, with a keyboard smash and a “need you rnnnn”, so reluctantly, Peter asked Tony for a ride home and texted Ned to meet him there. They were heading towards the lobby when Tony stopped in hesitation.

“Your jacket.” He said. “I forgot it in my office.”

“Oh, sorry, that’s my fault. I can go get it.” Peter had only taken one step towards the backroom when Tony caught his wrist. Okay, was Peter’s heart rate going to escalate every single time that happened? Because at this rate, he was heading for a heart attack at a young age.

“Wait here, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

Peter replayed _that_ word twenty times in his head as he watched Tony disappear around the corner.

Looked like he would be dying of a heart attack at a _very_ young age indeed.

Out of nothing but sheer neutrality, Peter tilted his head back to gauge the full enormity of the hall. The ceilings were incredibly high, like high enough to fit a bounce castle, or a mall-sized Christmas tree. As Peter took a few steps across the marble floor, the sounds of his shoes echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the columns and walls.

Curiously, he walked down a nearby hallway. Judging by the array of paintings on the walls, this was one of the more art specific sections of the museum. Peter tended to waver closer to the science and history side, so he never had explored this part of the museum before.

Peter recalled being dragged to the Met when his mother was dating Derek, and having to hear him go on using flowery, vague words about the significance of what he thought each piece meant (it always love or death in some form or another, without fail). Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. What a pretentious asshole.

Peter briefly viewed a painting of two women before moving on to the next one.

In a gold, antique wooden frame, was a large painting of a pond. Peter, intrigued, stepped closer.

A disruption in the pond, maybe a fish or a thrown rock caused the water to ripple, sending curves of movement across the canvas like sonar.

Past the soft blues and whites and purples of the rings was a reflection of a striking red Japanese maple tree rooted next to the bank. The trunk was a dark brown, a sharp contrast to the burning leaves. Peter followed the twisting branches upwards, where lively yellows and oranges the same shade as canaries spanned over the sky.

He could trace every curve with his eyes, see every stroke the painter had made. Thick pastel that Peter could reach out and touch with his fingers. Colors couldn’t look like that, could they?

Mesmerizing.

Peter had no frame of reference to fathom how long something like this would take to create, but he could only imagine the artist spent months painting it.

How could something so beautiful exist? How could it be created? How was he allowed to see it?

Peter didn’t have the faintest idea, and yet, here the painting was—existing, created, and here Peter stood—somehow able to be in the same room as something so incredible.

As he soaked in the beauty, it struck Peter just how _familiar_ the scenery was to him.

It looked like somewhere he had been before. Somewhere Peter knew well.

But from where? There were no people in the painting to give him clues; just the pond, the sky, a patch of grass, and the tree. Whatever had caused the motion in the water was hidden somewhere below the paper-thin surface.

It couldn’t have been any parks in New York. He would have remembered—would have recognized the tree, especially so close to the water. Maybe Peter went there in a reoccurring dream, somewhere he visited frequently. But no, that wasn’t quite right, either.

He blinked, trying to shake the feeling off, but he couldn’t.

No. Peter was certain. He _knew_ this place.

Peter was so hypnotized in his trance that he didn’t hear Tony coming--only noticed his presence when the sun was standing next to him, warming the crevices of Peter’s bones without even touching his skin.   

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tony asked, and that—that was so right. Maybe the truest thing Peter had ever heard. Because Tony’s voice fit so exquisitely with the painting, like an author reading aloud his own book.

And just like that, the missing puzzle piece snapped in place and Peter could see the whole picture. Couldn’t believe he hadn’t understood before.

“It looks like you.” Peter said, leaning his head against Tony’s shoulder.  

“Like me?” Tony sounded surprised as he curled his arm around Peter’s waist.

“Yes.” Peter stared back up at the painting and admired where patches of the sun gleamed across the surface of the water. “Just like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please tell me if you enjoyed it/what you enjoyed in the comments! Literally, i read them as soon as they come in and it's just the greatest feeling ever. And a big thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter; I can't wait to reply to all of yours. Reading them all fucking killed me and wow im just. a mess. 
> 
> As always, my Tumblr is richieloveseds :)


	16. Peter and Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Flash get into an argument regarding their book project. Much to Flash's chagrin, Tony gets more involved than he already was. Flash confesses something to Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. 
> 
> It's currently 3:32 AM and i am about to literally pass the fuck out, so I will get to your lovely comments on the last chapter tomorrow. Read them all, loved them all, please keep them coming they fuel my will to live. 
> 
> Also quick disclaimer, you may want to read chapter 7 before this, or have it open in a different tab. Not necessary, just a suggestion. 
> 
> ALSO this chapter is 8482 words, about 3k longer than my longer chapters, so fucking cheers to that because I guarantee you, it's not going to happen again I practically died writing this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a big fucking day.

Well, really, tomorrow was a big fucking day. His birthday, specifically, which would typically mean less than that much. But this birthday was _Special_ for _Reasons_.

In less than twenty-four hours, Peter Parker would be legally old enough to be in a relationship with Tony Stark in the state of New York. Not that they’d really gotten around to talking about the world _relationship_ , per say (they were just starting out whatever this was, after all), but Peter was more than a little hopeful that they could add a label, even if they were still a secret. Honestly, Peter was just happy to be here.

But not _here_ , here. Because, right now, Peter was stuck in English, working with Flash on their book project.  

“Okay, with your thing about appearance versus reality. It’s important to note that this is all from Humbert’s narration, which isn’t exactly reliable.” Flash said, underlining in red ink a sentence on Peter’s paper. He made him print out three copies before class. Three. Of a rough draft. “To him, Charlotte doesn’t like her daughter. So, what do we know for sure?”

Peter rested his chin over the top of his laptop. “Her actions, just not his interpretations of them.”

“Exactly. Good. So, what are those actions?”

“Well…we know Charlotte seems irritated by Dolores. She’s constantly snapping at her.”

“Right, and Humbert believes it’s because she’s jealous of their relationship.”

“I put that.” Peter gestured to the paper.

“But I don’t think that’s right.” Flash shook his head. “Charlotte’s worried about Lolita annoying him. That’s why she sends her to camp. It’s his own projection of romanticizing her that allows him to stoop to that level of viewing other people like that.”

Wow. That actually made a lot of sense.

“That’s so fucked up.” Peter remarked. How could people think like that? “I’ll edit it. Thanks.”

“We need to talk about the plot.”

“What? Why?” Peter groaned, setting his laptop off his lap and onto his desk. “Can’t we just do what we’ve been doing? Write separate portions and then put them together?”

Flash looked less than happy at the idea.

“I don’t know why you keep having me stress the importance of this project,” Flash said, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers dramatically, exemplifying stress, “but I thought I made it clear how important it is that we do more than just _good_. We need to be in sync.”

“Okay, fine.” Peter relented. “What about the plot?”

“Um…” Flash flipped through his notes. “Let’s talk about Humbert’s manipulative techniques of getting closer to Lolita.” He suggested, although, really, it didn’t seem like a suggestion at all; more like an order. “We can compare it to modern-day grooming. That can count for the contemporary portion.”

“Modern-day grooming?” He wasn’t serious, was he?

Peter saw this coming. Flash had been surprisingly cooperative about how they went about the project. He had yet to bring up Tony or try to convince him how he was Lolita. It meant Peter didn’t have to think about it, that he could read blindly and fill in the essay portions the same way he’d do for any other project. It was nice. Well, it _had been_ nice.

“Yeah,” Flash raised his eyebrows, “I know that despite your experience, you’re not very educated about it.”

“I don’t have any experience.” Peter growled, hating that the good mood he had been in all morning was beginning to sour. “You’re just trying to find a way to connect it to Tony.”

“Well, according to you, he’s not a child groomer, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Like that mattered. Flash was going to find a way to twist it, to make Tony look like a fucking child molester. He could make Mother Teresa look like the devil.

“Parker, it’s the project. It’s something we have to talk about.” There was that damned condescending tone Flash loved to use with him, like he was trying to reason with a four-year-old, as if _Peter_ was the one being difficult. “I’m sorry if it hits a little close to home—”

“It doesn’t!” Peter snapped, causing the commotion through the classroom to decrease briefly at the noise. Jesus. Was he really that loud? Peter shrank immediately into his chair, embarrassed of his short reaction. Flash was the only person he knew who could push his buttons enough to actually get a response. Hell, he was the only one who tried to.

“All I’m saying is look around.” Peter started again with a calmer voice. “Betty and Amy are taking Buzzfeed quizzes. Those guys over there are watching basketball. Mr. White isn’t even in the room.” He could tell his argument was weak as the words left his mouth--could practically conjure Flash’s response for him, but it was all Peter had on the spot.

“Good.” Flash chirped, dragging a neon yellow highlighter across a line of text. “I want them to fail. We’ll look better by comparison.”

Who the fuck even thought like that?

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Flash clicked the highlighter cap back on and sighed, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re saying we should adopt a sheep mentality and put in way less work than we are capable of so we’re at the same level as our imprudent classmates.”

Okay, well obviously it sounded worse when Flash explained it.

He rolled his eyes incredulously. “That’s a hard pass.” Flash grumbled. “You know me better than that to think I’d even consider such an awful option.”

Peter’s head dipped slightly at Flash’s critical words. He didn’t have to be so harsh.

“Fine.” Peter agreed, biting his tongue. As mocking as he was trying to be, Flash had a point. There was no reason for him to be annoyed. Tony wasn’t this _pedophile_ he was trying to make him out to be.

“Okay, first thing which influences the plot. He moves in with the mother as his tenant in order to be around her daughter, Dolores, A.K.A. Lolita. Let’s go over child grooming and see if we can see any initial similarities. Typically, children are more often targets if their parents aren’t very active in their lives.”

Peter thought back to Lolita’s mother, Charlotte Haze contemplatively before nodding slowly in agreement.

“Yeah, sure. That makes sense.”

Flash drummed his fingers against the table. His eyes glinted knowingly. Peter knew that look.

“For example,” he suggested, the casual tone only setting Peter’s nerves on alert more, “if a child’s dad moved a few states away and wasn’t around anymore and their mom had a job that kept her busy all the time, it would be a more desirable situation for a pedo, because not only does that suggest the kid isn’t being watched carefully, but also that said-kid is lacking in receiving attention.”

Peter gaped, shocked.

“What the fuck, Flash?”

His eyes darted around the classroom to see if anyone appeared to be listening. Fortunately, it was high school, and everyone appeared too busy wrapped up in their own lives to care what they were talking about.

“It’s just an example.” Flash held his hands up as if Peter was pointing a gun at him.

“It’s not ‘just an example’.”

“Who cares? Since _Tony_ ’s such a good guy, this shouldn’t be relevant.”

“I care.” Peter felt a ball tighten in his throat. “You know I care.”

“Gaining trust is what they aim to do next.” Flash continued, completely disregarding Peter’s protests. “A groomer would then observe the child and see what they need. Then it’s all about isolation. Getting the victim alone so they can have one-on-one time to make them feel appreciated and really increase that bond. With Humbert, it starts when he moves in. Also, it’s important to note when the lake trip is canceled.” Flash said, quickly flitting back to the book. “Lolita refuses to go to church and Humbert stays home with her. That’s also when they have their first sexual encounter. Usually, it takes a fair amount of time. Isolating the victim is usually done through a number of activities that don’t make the parents suspicious. Like tutoring, babysitting,” Flash glanced back up from his paper and met Peter’s eyes, “maybe an internship.”

There was a dull silence that followed after Peter processed Flash’s words. 

“I’m going to get some water.” Peter stood up and pulled his backpack on his chair, fishing around for his half-full water bottle.

“Parker,—”

“I’m done talking about it.” Peter said and zipped back up his backpack before taking off to the front of his class, water bottle in hand.

Mr. White was still nowhere in sight, so Peter walked out of the door without hesitation and trudged down the hallway.

The water fountain was a total disaster. It hummed loudly and leaked. Peter wasn’t exactly knowledgeable in the dating of water fountains, but judging by the small puddle by his shoes, it could easily have been around from the eighties.

Sighing, Peter unscrewed the cap of the bottle and held it under the water fountain. He couldn’t get five peaceful seconds before he heard Flash’s footsteps approaching him.

“I said I was done talking about it.”

“This isn’t something you can just ignore.”

“I know what I want, Flash.”

“You might think you do, but it’s only because of his influence on you.”

“That’s not true!” There he went again, raising his voice in the way only Flash could make him.  

“The ideal victim is someone who’s emotionally needy, doesn’t have a lot of confidence, and mostly keeps to themselves. Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

“You know what else the victim is?” Peter seethed, “A _child_.”

He hated this. He hated the way Flash talked about Tony. Like he was some monster who knew exactly what was going to happen and planned everything out meticulously from the second they met. Like he set a trap for Peter to naïvely fall right into—like getting him into bed was his goal. It was beyond insulting; it was ridiculous. He didn’t even know him.  

Peter didn’t care how pure Flash’s intentions might have been. It hurt hearing him accuse Tony of something so terrible, and it was even worse knowing there was nothing Peter could say to convince him otherwise. How could he without saying too much? Flash didn’t deserve to know the intimate details, the gentle way Tony touched him, the reassuring questions he asked, or the awestruck glaze in his eyes when he pulled away after kissing him. Peter didn’t want to share those moments with anyone. They were theirs, and theirs to keep and that should be okay. Why couldn’t that be okay?

He was _not_ about to cry in front of Flash Thompson. A part of his soul would literally have to wither up and die for him to do something crazy like that.

“If you could just open your mind up to the possibility that he’s manipulating you, then maybe you could—"

“I said I’m done talking about it!”

Peter turned so abruptly that his right foot went right into the puddle, making a _lippp_ sound as he struggled to create friction with the floor. He tried to ground himself with his other foot, but the initial slide left an even longer trail of water that his left foot slipped on, too. In short, he fell on his ass.   

“Peter? Are you alright?” That definitely wasn’t Flash’s voice. He looked up to see a familiar teacher walking towards them. It took him a moment to connect her name with her face. Mrs. Malloway. What was her first name? Edith? Edna? Something with an ‘e’; Peter didn’t remember. He would’ve known for sure freshman year when he was in her yearbook class. They had a pretty amicable relationship. Mrs. Malloway was known for being sort of strict, but Peter was quick to discover it was only when assignments were late that she turned mean, so he avoided doing that at all costs and the semester ran fairly smoothly from what he could remember, at least.   

“I’m—I’m fine.” Peter muttered, scrambling up before she could get close enough to help him up. God, could today get any worse? He had to go and embarrass himself too? “I just slipped.”

Mrs. Malloway adjusted her big, bulky glasses, which Peter always suspected was out of habit rather than necessity as she faced Flash.

“Did you push him?”

Flash flinched back at the question like he had been struck.

“Excuse me?” He glared at her like he was ready to load a gun. She held his gaze, one hand resting sturdily on her hip. Peter could already envision the long string of emails between Flash’s parents and Mrs. Malloway for the accusation, and he couldn’t help but feel a little badly for her.

“He didn’t push me.” Peter said before they could draw blood. “Really, I just slipped on a puddle.”

The protectiveness was a nice sentiment from her, but that was the thing. Peter was so fucking sick of good intentions. Why couldn’t people mind their own business? If they didn’t know the full situation, couldn’t they just fuck off unless specifically asked for help? What was so difficult about that?

Mrs. Malloway’s thin pursed lips softened into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile towards Peter. It felt just a tad, like the slightest bit condescending.

“Peter,” she said, tone not unlike as if she was speaking to a third grader, “you don’t have to lie.”

Jesus Christ. Did the whole world think he was this completely defenseless and sweet little puppy that could do no wrong? Sure, his face was kind of innocent-looking—he got that—but he didn’t need everyone to baby him like he was incompetent of surviving on his own. And yeah okay, sure, Mrs. Malloway was just trying to be helpful, but honestly, it could not have come at a worse time.   

“I’m not lying.” Peter objected, but she ignored him, narrowing in on Flash like a bird to a worm.

“Answer the question, Mr. Thompson.”

(And what the actual fuck? Was Peter invisible?)

Her words, of course, only elicited a colder reaction from Flash.

“ _No_ ,” He practically frothed at the mouth with anger, “I did not push him.”

They stared at each other like they were in a duel. Mrs. Malloway, without a doubt not believing Flash at all, squinted harder at him like she was making up her mind what to do. Flash didn’t falter as he scowled back like he was literally about to lunge for her throat.

Without a second thought, Peter gently placed his hand on Flash’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down and also reflect to Mrs. Malloway that they were on friendly terms. Yeah, he was still pissed at him for saying all that shit about Tony, but he wasn’t about to let whatever Flash was about to say get him in any more trouble. 

“Even if that isn’t true,” Mrs. Malloway said as she crossed her arms, “Verbal arguing in the hallways is still fighting. There are classes going on, boys. Shouldn’t you be in them?”

“I was just getting water.” Peter limply held up his water bottle.

“It takes two of you to get water?”

Oh, so it was going to be like that.

“I could hear you from down the hall.” Her Bronx accent gleamed through her pronunciation of ‘hall’.

“We weren’t fighting.” Flash assured. Peter may as well have been a mannequin.

“We can let Principal Morita sort that out.”

Principal Morita? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What?

“Flash.” Peter nudged him urgently. _Do something. Fucking do something. Fix this shit._

Flash cocked his head. “Is that _really_ necessary?”

It was necessary. They found themselves in hard, wooden chairs outside of the man’s office only five minutes later. She mercilessly allowed them to collect their backpacks, Mr. White still nowhere in sight (was he okay? Should Peter say something?), and led them down to the office. Mrs. Malloway, clearly with nothing better to do with her time, was inside, talking to Mr. Morita about their situation.

This was it. This was rock bottom. Peter didn’t think he’d see it so soon in his life and yet, here he was.

The principal’s office. The two times he’d ever been scolded by a teacher for talking during class, he spent the rest of the periods with his head down in shame thinking negative thoughts about himself and now he was expected to survive seeing the fucking principal?

How did this happen? Why the fuck did Peter have to go and get water and more importantly—why did Flash have to follow him?

“Parker, it’s going to be okay.” Flash promised, which really did nothing for Peter’s sanity. “My parents have donated way too much money at this school for me to get anything bad on my record. So, by extension of this situation, you’re in the clear, too.”

Okay, so that was a little comforting. But they shouldn’t have even been in this predicament in the first place. If it was Peter and anyone else, she probably would’ve let him go.

“I don’t even want to know whatever past drama you managed to get into with the yearbook teacher of all people.”

“That woman is the devil in disguise!” Flash whisper-shouted. “She’s had it out for me since freshman year.”

“You weren’t even in her class.” Peter sneered, wanting more than anything to be anywhere other than where he was. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to get along with adults? I thought that was your thing.”

The one time he could have actually made use of it, Flash had to disregard the skill completely.

“Only when they can do something for me. Don’t look at me like that! Everyone acts out of self-interest.” He crossed his arms. “At least I’m honest about it.”

Peter didn’t even know what to say to that. What could someone say to that? Before he could think of something, the door to Mr. Morita’s office opened and Mrs. Malloway stepped out.

“You can go in there now, boys.” She chirped like they were winning a fucking medal, and why did Peter ever associate even a grain of positivity with this woman?

Flash stood up first and Peter followed him into the room.

From what little Peter knew about his principal, he seemed like a pretty normal guy, maybe with a few weird ticks. For starters, he had one of those Japanese plastic cat figurines with its paw waving back and forth sitting on his desk, so he had to either like cats a fair amount or be a little superstitious. He was older than Tony, but younger than like, Liam Neeson. Fifties? Probably. Peter could see a little bit of gray in his otherwise jet black hair.

Most students in schools had something to say about their principals. But Midtown High? Principal Morita kind of flew under the radar. He wasn’t hated by the students, but he wasn’t loved either. That gave Peter a lot of Anxiety because it meant he had no idea what to expect.

“Flash, Peter, take a seat.” He gestured to the large chairs in front of his desk.

Peter awkwardly slid into a chair and fuck, his heart was beating irregularly fast.

“Arguing in the hallway?”

Oh, fuck, right into it, okay. Holy shit, his eye contact was terrifying.

“We had a small problem with our English project about the direction we’re taking it in.” Flash shot off like he was rehearsing a well-practiced speech. “Mrs. Malloway caught us discussing what character we wanted to choose for our in-depth study. We both have such strong personalities. When we get out into the real world, we’re going to have to work with people who sometimes aren’t comfortable with sitting back and letting us take the lead. It’s important, however, that we learn that creative differences are inevitable, and we both need to be more flexible on accommodating to each other and learning how to work well together. So, I think this is a lesson for the both of us. Wouldn’t you agree, Parker?”

“Um, yes.” Peter stuttered. Where the hell did Flash pull that from? “I agree.”

“I’m glad that’s settled.” The man smiled, pleased.

Settled? That was it? A quick, bullshit apology? He didn’t want to know why they were both in the hallway at the same time, or if Flash pushed Peter, or where the hell Mr. White was? What if Flash _had_ pushed Peter? He didn’t, obviously, but if he _did_ , would he just have gotten away with it? Evidently so. Peter had no idea his school was so corrupt with nepotism and it was kind of a shock to his system.

“You are two of the brightest students in the junior class.”

“Thank you.” Peter responded robotically. Flash didn’t acknowledge it.  

“Your records are spotless. You’re both valuable members of this school’s community. I know several students that see you as role models.”

“Why did you look at him when you said that?” Flash interrupted his monologue, sitting back and crossing his legs like he was on _Ellen_. Peter could have slapped him. 

“When I said what?”

“That we’re role models. You were looking at him. Does no one view me as a role model?”

“Flash.” Peter was going to fucking lose it. He offered an apologetic smile to the principal as the man’s eyes darted between them confusedly. 

“You are both role models, Mr. Thompson.” Mr. Morita sounded tired. “I was not trying to specifically single Peter out.”

This was their principal. He could expel them if he wanted to and Flash was just rolling the fucking dice like it was nothing?

“I expect you both to maintain the reputations you have earned. It would be a shame to see you throw them down the drain because you let your emotions get the better of you.”

Was everyone on the planet against having emotions? Could everyone control how they felt except for Peter? Why was he so fucking strange for letting his feelings run his life?

“You’re juniors. You will be graduating next year. Act like it.” He waggled a finger at them (a signature move, no doubt). “Flash, I know you have already toured Yale and Brown, and Peter, I have no doubt that you can attend whatever prestigious college you wish to.”

“Thank you, sir.” Peter murmured.

“I think you should take this afternoon to go home and spend the weekend reflecting. On Monday, I want you both to come in on your best behaviors. No more of this arguing business. At least not on school property.”

“Does this count as an out-of-school suspension?” Flash asked. Mr. Morita took his time to respond.

“Let’s just not have it happen again.” He raised his eyebrows. “Understood?”

“Understood.” Flash shrugged, content.

“Yes, sir.” Peter nodded.

“Flash, should I call your mother or your father?”

“My parents are out of town on business.”

Mr. Morita typed into his computer’s keyboard.

“Charlotte Mitchell, Juana Cabell, and Isabella García are all listed.”

“It’s Friday, so you can call Isabella.”

He glanced at Peter. “What about you, Mr. Parker?”

“Please don’t call my mom.” Peter begged. “She’s working at the hospital. Her shifts are crazy right now.”

_Feel bad for me. Feel bad for me. Feel bad for me._

Mr. Morita leaned forward with squinted eyes to read off the screen of his computer.

“You don’t have another guardian listed, Mr. Parker, unless your father is able to pick you up.”

Right, like that was possible.

“No, he’s not.” Peter hesitated. In the back of his mind, the idea of calling Tony floated around and bubbled to the surface.

“What about my mom’s boyfriend?”

Peter didn’t miss Flash’s jaw drop next to him. Peter promptly ignored him and waited for the man’s response. He didn’t clarify that Tony was her ex-boyfriend, but how was he supposed to be taken seriously if he did?

“He doesn’t have consent to pick you up.”

Flash snorted and crossed his arms dismally. “Like that’s stopped him before.”

“He means that he picks me up from school every week.” Peter quickly filled in and hoped he wasn’t blushing too much. “I have an internship at his museum.”

Mr. Morita fiddled with a pen contemplatively. Peter could see in the wrinkles on his forehead that he was genuinely considering the idea, which meant that he had a chance. It wasn’t an unreasonable option and that spurred a ball of excitement within Peter.

Finally, he opened his mouth. “I can call your mother and ask permission, but if she doesn’t answer, I can’t let you leave with him.”

_Yes!_

“That’s okay.” Peter nodded along sensitively. “I understand.”

“Go wait where you were sitting. I’ll let you know what your guardians say.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Peter let out a breath as soon as the door was closed behind them. They both sank into the uncomfortable chairs. Flash peered around the empty room before addressing Peter.

“Parker, come on. You know this isn’t right.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” God, what was his mom going to think? He struggled to remember if she was getting off work at four or five.

“Come back with me.” Flash urged. “It’ll take two seconds to get permission over the phone. I’ll drop you off at your place if you want--just please don’t go with him.” 

Peter blinked slowly, shooting Flash a look of doubt.  

“You have to be out of your mind if you think I’m doing that.”

“Parker.”

“No, Flash.” Peter grumbled, sinking in his chair. “You were a dick and you got me in trouble.”

“It’s not going on your record.” Flash protested. “You basically got a free half-day.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. He pulled up Tony’s contact and clicked the phone icon before giving it a second thought. He picked up on the second ring.

“Please tell me it’s not another fire.” Tony teased jokingly.

Peter bit his lip and switched his phone to his left ear so Flash had less of a chance of hearing the conversation. “Not exactly.”

 

*

 

When Tony walked into the office, he looked like he just got off a runway for Saint Laurent. Even overwhelmed with everything that had happened, Peter could still gawk at how handsome Tony was in a suit. How many did the man own? He swore they were just getting better every time he saw them. Black pants and black blazer, sunglasses in hand, and a light, silk blue tie. Peter wanted Tony to choke him with it and--Jesus—that was new. Where did that come from?

“I’ll be right back.” He told Peter before entering Mr. Morita’s room to sign him out, and sure enough, the door had barely closed before it opened again and he was stepping back out.   

“Mr. Stark.” Flash greeted icily. The man regarded him with an equally stony gaze, brown eyes sharp enough to slice through bricks. Peter was intimidated and he wasn’t even looking at him.

“Let’s go, Peter.” Without his name being called, Peter would have assumed he was talking to Flash; their eyes were still on each other’s. Albeit the slight confusion, Peter practically jumped out of his chair, slung his backpack over his shoulder and bolted to Tony’s side.

“Bye, Parker.” Peter could only picture Flash’s cocky grin as Tony led him out of the door, hand firmly on his back. 

He waited until they were in the car to talk about it. 

“What happened?” Tony asked, inspecting his face carefully, probably searching for bruises. “Did he touch you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Peter, sweetheart, it’s not an ‘of course not’ situation. I just signed you out of school because you and that prick got into a fight.”

“It was an argument. He didn’t—he didn’t physically do anything. He’s not a violent person.”

“What was it about?”

Peter knew this was coming. It was inevitable really, at least, that’s how he brought himself to actually say it.

“You.”

“Me?” Shock colored Tony’s face.

“Us.” Peter corrected, eyes low.

“Flash knows there’s an us?”

All cards on the table.

There were several ways Peter could have explained it, but he ended up pulling out his copy of _Lolita_ from his backpack and handing it to Tony.

“This is the book Flash chose for our project in English.”

He watched Tony read the title--could practically see the gears turning dramatically fast in his brain as he put all the pieces together.

“That fucking asshole.” Tony flipped through the pages before looking up to meet Peter’s eyes. “He’s been tormenting you with this?”

“That’s what our argument was about.” Peter admitted, feeling himself start to ramble. He should have said something sooner. “The book. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t—I don’t want to keep things from you. I want to make this work so badly and I was scared you might decide you didn’t want to if you knew that he knew, or if you thought that it was too much trouble or if Flash and I were—”

“Listen to me.” Tony cut him off, reaching out his hand to cup Peter’s face. “You are not ‘too much trouble’. Get that idea out of your head right now.”

“Okay.” Peter murmured, caught in his gaze.

“Baby, I would never have started this if I had any uncertainty that you were anything other than exactly what I want.”

He really meant it.

Peter never liked anyone as much as he liked Tony. How could there be another person better for him out there than the man in front of him? It was wrong and it was disgusting and it was beautiful and it was all he needed.

“You are what I want too.”

No matter what Flash said. No matter what the world decided.

Peter felt spacey the entire car ride back. He tried his best to retell the story as it happened, mostly focusing on Mrs. Malloway and being in trouble with his principal. Going over it all only made it worse. Tony listened aptly as he always did, but he must have sensed something was off, because when they arrived, Tony breezed him through the museum to the backroom and from there, sat him down at one of the chairs.

“Look at you. You’re all shaken up.”

God, he was, wasn’t he?

“I just—I’ve never been to the principal’s office before today.” It was an experience Peter would prefer to not repeat.

“Sweet boy.” Tony stroked his cheek and Peter sighed as he leaned into the man’s touch. “You don’t like being punished, do you?”

“No.” He felt like shit, to be honest. He knew Mr. Morita went easy on him; hell, he could have done way worse, but still. Peter felt all wrong. “I can’t stand disappointing someone like that.”

“You love being good.” Tony remarked thoughtfully, moving his hand farther up to pet his hair.

“Yes.” Peter answered, even though he knew it wasn’t a question. Tony rewarded him with running his fingernails lightly over his scalp and Peter fluttered his eyelids closed. Fuck, it felt so good. It always felt good when Tony touched him.

Was the good he liked being for Tony the same as the good he was at school? He wanted to ask, but Tony suddenly had a cloudy look in his brown eyes when he met them.

“Rhodey’s going to be back any minute.” Tony warned quietly before slowly drawing his hand away. “And your mom’s coming in an hour.”

“That’s not a lot of time.” Peter sulked. He wanted to freeze the world so he and Tony could live in it forever.  

“Your birthday is tomorrow.”

“I want to celebrate it with you.” Peter said, nudging him with his foot. Tony smiled amusedly and copied his movements.

“Baby, we both know you have plans.”

They were both aware it would look more than a little suspicious for Peter to cancel dinner with his mom and Ned. And, well, it was a _tradition_.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Sunday night. I want to take you out to a fancy dinner somewhere.”

“A date?” Peter perked up.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Tony gave him a swift kiss, pulling away way too quickly for Peter’s liking. “I want to take you on a date.”   

Peter glanced up at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “I think I can fit it into my schedule.” He said before breaking into a wide smile.

Tony chuckled warmly, even looked like he was about to lean in for another kiss before the sound of the doorknob being jiggled had him taking a fast step back.

“Oh, hey, Pete.” Rhodey greeted, carrying four big binders as he entered the room. “Out of school early?”

“Uh—”

“Good.” Rhodey tossed the binders on the desk in front of Peter. “I could really use your help with this banquet dinner.”

“Wow, kid.” Tony shot him a teasing smile. “Looks like you’ve been demoted.”

 

*

 

When Mary stepped into the backroom, Peter’s first concern wasn’t even if she was mad. It wasn’t guilt, either, it was…intrusion.

Seeing his mother _here_ , the place where he and Tony spent so much time alone, it was unnerving. This was their hideout from the world. This was where they could be themselves, only having to worry about Rhodey seeing them too closely. He felt weirdly naked under her gaze, like she could see exactly what they had done. She didn’t belong here. It was theirs. He knew it was flawed logic and wrong to even think like that, but he wondered if Tony felt as uncomfortable as he did too.

“Peter, could you please wait in the car while I talk to Tony?” She asked, walking towards them.

Fuck. He’d really prefer to not do that. But what could he say? _No, Mom, I’d rather not leave you alone with your ex-boyfriend and my current mutual love interest_?

“Sure.” Peter couldn’t even fake a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Stark, for picking me up.”

“Of course, Peter.” He could feel Tony’s concerned thoughts from across the room as he reached for the door handle. There was nothing either of them could do.

God, this sucked. Tony and Mary were the adults and he was the little kid who had to wait in the backseat of the car with a lollipop while they talked about things he was incapable of understanding. Each step out the front door felt like a sting, reminding Peter just how out of place he was.

He wandered into the parking lot and leaned against Tony’s car. He wished it was unlocked, so he could sit in the driver’s seat and try to feel him. Tony was only less than a football field away, but it was already too far, and could only feel farther when Mary came back and they drove home. What were they talking about? Was there a chance his mom was reminiscing about the good parts of their past relationship? What if she wanted him back?

He gave himself another minute before deciding it wouldn’t be a pretty picture if Mary came out and saw him draped against her ex-boyfriend’s Audi, so he headed for her car to find it unlocked.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked when she got in five minutes later.

“No.” Mary said, turning the keys into the ignition. “No, I’m not mad at you. I’m confused.” She rested her arm over the back of Peter’s seat and looked out the back window before pulling out of the spot. “You aren’t the kind of kid that gets into fights at school. I didn’t raise you like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter shrunk. He was just a shitty person overall, wasn’t he? “I didn’t get detention or anything. This isn’t going on my record.”

“I know. Your principal made sure I knew that.” Mary sighed. Her hair was frizzier than usual. She seemed exhausted and Peter was definitely a shitty person. “What were you and Flash arguing about?”

“Nothing serious.” He brushed off, looking at the skyscrapers as they passed by. Hell, Peter may as well go with Flash’s story. “I mean, it was stupid. We’re both just stressed out over our book project for English class. This strict teacher overheard us arguing about it and made a huge deal out of the whole thing.”

“I know you care about Flash a lot.” Mary said gently.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if he could put up with all his bullshit if he didn’t. Or maybe Peter was just a pushover. Maybe he didn’t care about being trampled on or he was too much of a pussy to do anything about it. Either way, Flash was a consistent part of his daily life and it wasn’t something Peter planned on changing, even after the mess that was today.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Mary offered. “I know I’ve been busy with work, but if you need something, honey, all you have to do is tell me.”

Wow, okay, and suddenly, he felt a little like crying. His mom didn’t deserve what he was doing to her. His mom who just got off work to pick up her son that got into a fight and was more than halfway in love with the guy she had dated. It was so fucked up--the kind of fucked up that couldn’t be taken back or coated with sugar.

He wondered what she would do if he just told her right here, right now. _Mom, I’m in a sexual and romantic relationship with Tony. Please don’t hate me._ How could he come back from that? How could he make it sound better?

He couldn’t.

So, Peter held back.  

“Thanks, Mom.” He murmured, taking in her profile as they slowed down to a red light. “I’m here for you too.”

Peter was a shitty, shitty person.

 

*

 

“Hello?” Peter answered groggily, cringing at the brightness as he held the phone against his ear.

“I’m at your door.”

“Flash?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

No fucking way.

“You’re--what? Right now?” Peter tossed his sheets away from him and grabbed a hoodie from his drawer.

“Yeah.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, blinking past the pain to check the time.

“It’s eleven-thirty.”

Peter pulled the hoodie over his head.

“I’m aware.”

“Why are you calling me at eleven-thirty outside my apartment?”

“I didn’t want to wake your mom by knocking.”

 “How considerate.” Peter rolled his eyes. “This couldn’t have waited until, like, tomorrow?” He whispered into the phone as he made his way down the hall. The lights were off, which meant his mom had gone to bed.

“I didn’t want to have this conversation on your birthday.”

So, it was going to be a conversation.

Peter checked the peephole and sure enough, Flash Thompson stood outside. He turned the lock and opened the door.

Flash gave him a tiny smile (rare sighting), still dressed as preppy as usual in a collared shirt and khakis with a large brown coat on. The only difference was his hair was the slightest bit messier than usual.

“Can we talk?”

 

*

 

They sat on the apartment building’s fire escape, where Peter was sure they wouldn’t disturb his mom’s sleep. Flash complained only once about the filthiness about the ladder before sitting down.

It was cold. Fucking freezing actually, but also the kind of cold that Peter could appreciate. There was no doubt that in ten minutes, Peter would crave warmth, but right now, just stepping out of his cramped, little apartment, it was refreshing.

Maybe it was what he needed.

“I shouldn’t have called you emotionally needy and insecure.” Flash’s voice broke the silence.

Peter turned, surprised. “That’s what you’re sorry for?”

“I thought about it and yeah, it was too callous. And for bringing up your dad. And also about Mrs. Malloway. I could have smoothed things over, but I didn’t. I made things worse out of spite. Usually I do everything out of spite and it works well. Today, it didn’t.”

Peter pulled the hood up and felt his curls tickle his ears, a telltale sign he needed a haircut.

“You’re really not going to apologize for everything you accused Tony of?”

“Parker, I can’t do that.” Flash exhaled forcefully and shook his head, almost like he was pleading with him. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“Like I told you before, it’s okay that you don’t like him.” Peter pulled his knees up to his chin. “But can you please, please, please, please just stay out of it?”

“No.”

The nonchalance lit a fuse in Peter.

“It’s none of your business!”

“None of my business?” Flash snapped back. “It’s my fault!”

“What?”

“You really have no idea, do you?” Now, he looked like he knew something Peter didn’t, and was checking to see if Peter knew it too. Peter dodged his probing eye contact, momentarily flicking his gaze down to his lap.

“What are you talking about?”

Flash let out a defeated sigh.

“The night at Cindy’s party.”

Cindy’s party. That night. The night of The Incident.

“What about it?”

“Do you remember it?”

The black leather seats of the Audi. Peter’s embarrassing drunken confession. Tony’s fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

“Yeah, sure I remember it.”

“No.” Flash was serious. “Do you remember everything?”

Everything? The main recollection of that night was from after, when he was with Tony, but Flash had to have been referencing when they were together. Like waking up, memories quickly swept through his mind. He recalled laying in the cool grass next to Flash, passing around a flask. Ned? Where was—oh. He left. That’s right. Ned left early for some reason. The conversation he and Flash had. Lying back and gazing at the black, starless sky.  

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

“Then you know it’s my fault, don’t you?”

His fault? What was he talking about?

He’d never seen Flash like _this_. This wasn’t the bright anger Peter knew. This was…different. Dramatically different. Not even anger, really, that wasn’t the right word. Anger he could project through miles without a sweat. Anger was in his code.

This? This was different.

“I’m the reason you got drunk. I pressured you into drinking.” Flash paused, screwing his eyes shut as if he was in pain. “And if that piece of shit took advantage of you because I let him--Parker, I would never get over it.”

Wait, wait. _What_?

“You—you think the night of the party, Tony and I…?”

“We were outside and you fell asleep on the lawn. It was late, so I woke you up and told you to call your mom.”

“I remember. Tony picked up and he came to get me. You went inside.” He was pretty sure Flash wasn’t there when Tony arrived. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Flash stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I glanced once or twice out of the window to make sure you didn’t wander in front of a moving car, okay? Sue me.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“You were so wasted and I just let you get into the car with him. I should have stopped you.”

“I—I don’t understand. Why would you have had to stop me?”

“The way he was touching you when he helped you get into the car. It was weird. There was something off about it. It wasn’t—it wasn’t normal.” His expression was a combination of disgust and dread as he recalled it. “He swayed you into the car like you were a toy and he only let go of your shoulders when you sat down.”

That wasn’t how Peter remembered it. 

“I was drunk.” Peter defended. “He was making sure I wouldn’t fall.”

Tony was worried about Flash taking advantage of him while Flash was worried about Tony taking advantage of him. There was a great deal of irony in that and if Peter wasn’t so exhausted by it, he’d be laughing right now.

“Yeah, right. Like you’re not already compliant enough sober.” Flash snorted. “Drunk you’re a fucking shitshow.”

“Hey.” Peter frowned, mulling over Flash’s choice of words. “Am not. Besides, you said so yourself—you pressured me into drinking.” He reminisced clearly now, arriving to the party and being overwhelmed by all the people, seeing Flash in the midst of it all by the bar, and striking up a conversation with him without reluctance after being called over. “Why do that anyway? What was in it for you?”

And for a moment, Peter thought about it in a way he never would have. If what Tony said was true about him, Flash would have done _something_ during that night. They were with each other for hours--at times, alone—but nothing was ever suggested. Nothing Peter remembered, anyway.

“Parker, don’t get cynical like me. It’s not a good look on you.”

But there was such a big push from him to drink. Peter remembered clearly.

_Parker, it’s just one more. Come on, how much harm can two shots do?_

_I think this flask holds exactly four shots of tequila and they’re all meant to be yours._

“You know what?” Flash continued, tone more defensive, “Keep thinking. I want you to get to that conclusion just so you can see how utterly ludicrous it is and get pissed at yourself for even going there.”

Peter stared out at the building across from theirs. On the third floor, in one of the windows, there was a silhouette of a lamp on a table.  

“I wasn’t thinking anything.” Flash wouldn’t have. It wasn’t like that. _He_ wasn’t like that.

“It was a party. God forbid I just wanted you to have a normal high school experience, not get fucking molested by a pedophile. I didn’t think that was on the table, and if I knew it was, I would have made sure you were okay. I would have brought you home with me.”

Was there more to it than that? Maybe. Probably. Peter wasn’t sure. Was Flash going to tell him if there was? It didn’t seem like it.

“I just don’t understand why you’d even feel like if something happened, that it was your fault. You didn’t even know that we were—”

“I didn’t _know_.” Flash emphasized. “But I suspected.”

“Well, you have no reason to feel guilty.” Peter shook his head earnestly. “Nothing happened that night.”

“Parker, you were inebriated.” He chuckled humorlessly. “You should have seen yourself.”

“I know I was drunk, but Flash, you have to trust me on this. Nothing happened.”

“How can you know that for sure?”

For the first time ever, Peter heard Flash’s voice crack.

Mrs. Malloway certainly didn’t believe Flash had a conscience capable of feeling guilt, but here he was, looking at Peter with the saddest puppy eyes without even trying to. He was so genuinely affected by the thought of Peter potentially getting hurt by Tony.

Maybe Peter had been too wrapped up thinking the reason why Flash gave a shit was to save his own pride. Peter just assumed it was more about him being right than it was him caring about Peter’s well-being, but maybe he was wrong. Because right now, Flash looked anything but prideful. He was always so poised, could control every emotion but his inevitable irritation that, hell, if Peter was being honest, was just a part of his character. Now, though, he was on the brink of actual tears. Tears Peter always thought his ego simply couldn’t afford.

Peter couldn’t let him carry on thinking that he set him up to be molested. The only way out of this situation was through. He had to tell him the truth, even if it was supposed to be private.

“Because I came on to him.” The silence between them allowed Peter to construct his words together as eloquently as he could. “Flash, I tried and he shot me down. He told me I would regret it and he helped put me in my bed. That was it. He turned off the light and left my room. He got me water and ibuprofen and was gone by the time I woke up.”

He watched Flash’s back rise and fall as he let out a long breath. For once, he didn’t have an immediate response.

“Now that you know,” Peter started slowly, “can you please stop worrying about this whole thing?”  

“No.” Flash was back to not hesitating between sentences. “Parker, you can’t understand how happy I am that I did not contribute to him doing this to you, but that doesn’t mean that he in any way redeemed himself. He shouldn’t be praised for not touching you when you were drunk. That should be expected.”

Peter wasn’t fucking praising him for not giving in when he was drunk.

“You didn’t expect it.”

“Because he doesn’t respect the fact that you can’t consent now. The way I see it is one night, he respected that you couldn’t consent while you were drunk, and the next night, he didn’t, while you were a sixteen-year-old.”  

“So, what happens tomorrow? What happens when I turn seventeen? Are you going to give this up?”

“The idea of you alone with him—it makes me nervous. That’s not something that’s going to change.” Flash’s voice dropped quieter, almost like he was confessing a secret. “I still think he’s a bad person.”

“I don’t feel unsafe with him or taken advantage of.” Peter tilted his head inquisitively. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“You don’t get it, Parker. That’s how it works.” Flash stood up and rustled through the pocket of his coat. “Here,” he said, offering what Peter initially thought was a book on child grooming. “Open it on your birthday.”

Peter examined the present in his hands. It was rectangular, an inch or two thick, and giftwrapped intricately in shiny, dark blue paper.

“Flash,” Peter began uncertainly, “if this is because of what—”

“I got it two weeks ago.” Flash clarified, like he was reading his mind. “Before our argument.”

“Thank you.” Peter smiled and he actually returned it.

“Happy birthday, Parker. I’ll show myself out.”

Flash cursed a couple times trying to get back in through the window but closed the front door softly when he exited, which Peter was grateful for.

He glanced at his phone and shivered.

12:02 AM.

Before Peter could click the power button, his screen changed and a picture of the painting he saw from the museum flashed on his screen.

Peter answered Tony’s call without faltering.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Static characters? We don't know them. 
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>  
> 
> What do you think? Are you still there? It's been literally a month and a half--seriously are you guys still reading this fic? 
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> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Have a lovely day. See you much sooner than it took me to write this chapter. I need wine and adderall. 
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> Tumblr-richieloveseds


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